


Intent To Blow

by LouLa



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew Shaw's evenings used to be spent out on the ice, either at hockey practice or at a game, but lately, it's night after night of detention. It's there that he meets Brandon Bollig, who gets on his nerves instantly. After being kicked off the hockey team, Andrew began trying to straighten out his act, with little success. He didn't expect for Bollig to find a way to help him with that, but he didn't really expect to fall in love with such an asshole either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intent To Blow

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: No major warnings apply. Minor warnings include consensual sex between characters under the age of 18 (over the age of 16), underage drinking, and what could constitute as mild abuse (mutual hitting, biting, scratching, roughhousing, etc.)
> 
> Many, many thanks to the one and only Liz, who puts up with my nonsense daily. This story never would have happened without you, babe. Thank you to Danielle for the beta read, and to listedheart for the mix and art to go along with the story.
> 
> Written for the [hockey big bang challenge](http://hockeybigbang.livejournal.com/).

Anything Could Happen  
mix by [listedheart](../users/listedheart/pseuds/listedheart)

  
[8tracks](http://8tracks.com/wanderlands/anything-could-happen/) | [download](http://www.sendspace.com/file/2ewzks)

 

 

Detention isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. Or maybe Andrew is just used to it at this point. Sure, it's boring as fuck sitting there for an hour doing absolutely nothing, and the car ride home is never fun considering he can practically feel the disappointment rolling off his mother. It's not like he isn't trying to stay out of trouble, but it's not as easy as it sounds. Teachers are dicks. His classmates are dicks. The principal is a dick. Everyone is a dick.

“Hey.”

Andrew looks over at the dark-haired dude he sat down by, finds him looking back.

“Can I borrow a pencil?”

Andrew clenches his pencil between his fingers then reaches down to pat at his pockets, but he already knows he just has the one. It's not like he's using it anyway. He hands it across the aisle and forces a little grin when the guy says thanks.

He turns back to the papers on his desk and they still don't make sense. Just a bunch of numbers and lines that don't mean shit. He sighs and leans against the hard-backed chair, taps his fingers on the desk top.

Now he's even more bored than before. At least with a pencil he could pretend to be doing something ― doodling in the margins or scribbling made-up answers on impossible worksheets. There's nothing to do with his hands.

He glances over at the guy he gave his pencil to but looks away just as quickly because it's not like he's going to ask for it back. It's not that big of a deal. Except he notices the guy isn't even using his pencil, he's got it tucked over his ear and he's messing with his phone underneath the desk.

Shifting, Andrew leans halfway across the aisle and ― he knows he sucks at whispering but he tries to keep his voice down when he says, “If you're not gonna use it, give it back.”

He thinks the guy is going to hand it over, as he reaches up to untuck it from behind his ear, but instead of passing it back to Andrew, he quirks an eyebrow and chucks it across the room.

Andrew stares in disbelief for half a second and then quickly has to check himself to keep from reacting. When he looks away from where the pencil landed in the back corner of the room, it's to find that the dude is just sitting there smiling at him.

Andrew leans further across the aisle, feeling the metal piece that keeps the chair connected to the desk digging into his side and knowing it's really the only thing holding him back from going at this smug bastard. “What the fuck, seriously,” Andrew hisses.

It doesn't exactly come out all that quiet. The teacher supervising hushes the room harshly, and though Andrew doesn't look up to find out, he's sure she's already got her eye on him.

“You were tapping it. It was distracting. And annoying.”

“You could have asked me to stop?” Andrew asks incredulously. Seriously, he would have, probably, if he'd _asked_. Nicely.

“Right,” he says, sounding unconvinced.

“Whatever, asshole,” Andrew mutters back as he stands to go find his pencil.

“Do you need something, Mr. Shaw?” he's asked before he can even shuffle away from his desk.

“My pencil,” Andrew answers and points to where he knows it landed.

“Sit down, please, Andrew, and stop causing disruptions.”

Huffing his irritation, he does as he's told before he can get into any more trouble. There's only half an hour left anyway, it won't be that hard to sit there and do nothing for that long. Andrew resolutely stares down at the papers on his desk and doesn't look up even when he hears the amused snort of the guy next to him, or the squeak of rubber on the linoleum floor.

His pencil is being wagged under his nose just a few moments later and he does glance up then to see the guy back at his desk, smiling, arm outstretched to hand it over to Andrew. It's bullshit that he can get away with getting out of his seat and Andrew can't, when it wasn't even Andrew who started the shit anyway.

Andrew reaches out to take the pencil only to have it snatched out of his reach. And that just fucking does it, he's going to deck this asshole in his stupid face. But before he can, the guy is leaned right up in his space, one arm braced along the back of his seat as he looks down at Andrew's notebook.

“That's wrong,” he says, tapping the page with the eraser end.

“No one asked you,” Andrew replies stiffly, grabbing again for the pencil, but the guy just knocks his hand away and moves to erase Andrew's answer off the paper and start writing his own.

“See,” he's saying, explaining quietly to Andrew as he writes, solving the problem out like it's nothing, but Andrew doesn't see, he's not even listening. All he can feel is the warm pressure of the arm against his back and the breath against his neck as the guy just keeps talking in that deep voice. “It's easy,” are the first words to register in Andrew's mind.

And no, it's really not; easy is the exact opposite of what it is to him. He shakes his head to clear it and snatches his pencil away from the guy's hand. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically, dismissively.

“Okay,” he replies, finally seeming to concede to leaving Andrew the hell alone. “But tap that pencil once and I'll break your fingers.”

And as badly as Andrew wants to do just that, rub it in and get to this asshole as much as he's gotten to Andrew, he doesn't do it. He stares straight ahead and focuses on waiting it out as the last minutes tick by.

He gathers his things together in a rush and doesn't look back as he leaves the room, papers shoved haphazardly beneath his arm. He's not running away; he's not scared of the guy, but he doesn't want to spend another second near him at the risk of getting himself into more trouble. He presses Andrew's buttons without even seeming to try and, sometimes, people who can do that don't realize how little it takes for Andrew to snap, and other times they do, and they do it on purpose. He kind of seems like that sort of person to Andrew. So when he hears the sound of sneakers on concrete coming up behind him, he puts his head down and walks faster, hoping he's wrong. Because he's literally on his last rope with the school right now. He's one fuck up away from getting expelled. Again. And he really can't take any more of his mother's disappointment.

Unfortunately, his instincts are spot on. He's not even halfway to the parking lot when someone grabs him from behind. He drops his things to the ground and lets himself be spun around, fists clenching. He braces himself, jutting out his jaw once he's turned to face the guy from detention.

“Whoa, hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” the guy rushes to say when he notices Andrew's clenched fists. His hands are extended outward, open palms up as if to placate Andrew. “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name's Brandon. Bollig,” he tacks on after a moment's pause.

“Great,” Andrew replies, relaxing from his defensive stance. He crouches down to collect his things and rolls his eyes when the guy... Brandon... Bollig bends to help.

“I'll see you around, then,” Bollig says, and Andrew just grunts as he turns to go. He really hopes not. What a pain in the ass.

―

Of course it doesn't work that way. Andrew has detention again the next day, and so does Bollig, it would seem. Andrew tries to find himself a nice quiet spot in the back of the room, but to no avail, since Bollig comes and takes the seat right next to him.

“Hey,” he says when Andrew looks up, smiling like they're friends, like he's glad to see Andrew, and like Andrew should be glad to see him. “It's Andrew, right?”

“What are you, a stalker?” Andrew asks. He shuffles around all the crap dumped onto his desk, trying to decide where to start, and turns his back to Bollig as much as he can with how they're seated. It doesn't work all that well, but he really hopes Bollig gets the idea and doesn't try to talk to him.

Yeah, right.

“Maybe,” Bollig answers, kind of laughing like an idiot. It's not even funny. When Andrew doesn't laugh along with him, he just goes on talking, still not taking a hint. “No, Mrs. Thompson said it yesterday in detention, remember?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Andrew's continued disinterest in speaking to Bollig at least seems to sink in then because he finally shuts up and leaves Andrew alone. He does his work in silence, struggling through the study guides and problems, and when neither of those things work, moving on to drafting an essay due in the next couple of days.

The thing is that he doesn't even realize he's doing it until Bollig reaches over and grabs his wrist. Tapping his pencil or his fingers as he tries to do his homework is just a habit he's gotten into. He's not used to someone being so bothered by it.

It startles him into stopping when he feels Bollig grab him. And then it downright pisses him off. He jerks his arm in an attempt to break the grasp, but Bollig just tightens his hold.

Andrew turns in his seat to glare, and Bollig just calmly stares back, arm outstretched across the narrow aisle between their desks.

“Let go,” Andrew says, enunciating carefully from behind his teeth, jaw clenched.

Bollig doesn't, and again he tightens up his fingers when Andrew tries to pull away. It hurts. Not too much though, Andrew's not going to like, _cry_ or anything, but Bollig's hands are big ― he's really a pretty large sized dude, Andrew noticed yesterday, but like that's going to stop him ― and his fingers wrap completely around Andrew's wrist, and he's strong enough that Andrew can't get away without causing a scene.

“Let...” Andrew starts to say again, but Bollig cuts him off, squeezing hard enough to make Andrew gasp a little. “Don't do it again,” Bollig tells Andrew calmly before releasing him and turning back toward his desk.

Andrew blinks and looks down at his wrist, where he can see the red imprint Bollig's fingers left on his skin. His hand feels like deadweight against the desktop, wrist throbbing and fingers prickling with the feeling of blood rushing back into them. Bollig is ignoring him now, and Andrew squeezes his fingers into a fist just once and then lets his hand go slack against the cool desk, oddly calm as he picks up the pencil he dropped.

It isn't until later that he realizes he finished his paper in detention. He flips open his laptop and keys in the words, feeling the phantom ache of fingers around his wrist. His focus doesn't falter and the paper is finished by the time he goes to bed that night, a whole day early, and he doesn't feel too bad about it.

It doesn't make any sense, but Andrew doesn't bother to look at it too closely either.

―

 

―

It's kind of stupid for Andrew to expect anything different the next day in detention, but can't really blame a guy for hoping. Clearly whatever Bollig did to get himself in trouble was bad enough to earn him at least a week's worth of punishment. Missed homework isn't going to get anyone a week, which is intriguing to Andrew.

He'd know all about it, what with all the time he spends accidentally getting in trouble. Most of it's from fighting, and that shit is never his fault anyway, but on occasion it's missed assignments and arguing with teachers, that kind of thing. The latest stint had started out as just a week for back-talking the wrong guy, but had doubled to two, and then a month for tripping some asshole who thought it was funny to make fun of his height and punching that idiot's friend in the mouth for making the same mistake the next day.

Two weeks into serving his time, he hasn't gotten into any more trouble, and he'd like to keep it that way, but this Bollig douchebag just seems content to push Andrew's buttons at any given chance.

“That answer's wrong, man, how many times do I have to tell you?” Bollig asks, leaning over Andrew and jabbing one of his fat fingers at Andrew's homework. Andrew isn't entirely sure where Bollig gets off on shoving his nose into Andrew's business but if he wasn't already in all kinds of trouble, he'd teach him a fucking lesson or two about minding his own shit and respecting other people's personal space as well, because Christ. He needs to back off.

“I never asked for your help the first time and I'm still not asking, how many times do I have to tell you that, eh?”

“That's the beauty of it. I'm helpful without you even having to ask,” Bollig says as he thumps Andrew on the back.

“You're the very opposite of helpful. Please go away.”

“Why would I go away when you just started talking to me?” It's disturbing how serious Bollig looks as he takes the seat next to Andrew, smiling all pleased-like, far too comfortable with the death glare Andrew's giving him. The guy either thrives on Andrew's absolute hatred for him or he's too stupid to figure out he's asking for it. Andrew's really not sure which is more likely, and he's not about to give Bollig the satisfaction of thinking that Andrew is actually willingly talking to him so he settles for going back to ignoring him instead.

Being that focused on ignoring him, Andrew is pretty sure he hears Bollig wrong when he says, “You're so cute when you're angry.” First of all, Andrew is cute all the time, not just when he's mad, and second, he really has no interest in being found attractive by some douchebag that's completely oblivious to boundaries.

Maybe if Bollig wasn't so annoying, maybe then Andrew would believe he really heard Bollig call him cute. Unless he said it just to provoke Andrew further, in which case, fuck him. Andrew's ignoring him anyway, he didn't even hear it.

It's not as though Bollig doesn't have anything going for him, either. Andrew hasn't been looking, but he may have noticed that Bollig isn't only tall and ripped, but he has a nice face and his hair is kind of dumb but it works for him.

But he's so painfully irritating and Andrew has zero interest in him, and that's all there is to it. Andrew has homework to worry about and never ending detention time that needs to be served, and that is what Andrew's focused on. Nothing else.

Which works until something smacks against the back of his hand hard enough to sting, and there's no surprise that it's Bollig. After the initial sting wears off, he goes back to tapping his fingers against the desktop, on purpose this time. It earns him another slash across the back of the hand from Bollig's pencil. He gets smart then and switches hands, tapping mercilessly at his desk with the fingers too far away from Bollig to reach. But that doesn't end up mattering because Bollig just whacks him on the hand he can reach again.

Andrew doesn't hesitate to reach over and punch Bollig as hard as he can on the arm. Bollig just laughs, though he does mutter a quiet, “fuck,” under his breath as he rubs his arm as well. So at least it hurt a little bit.

“Don't think just because you're bigger than me that I won't fight you,” Andrew warns him.

“I have no doubt that you would try to fight me,” Bollig replies.

Andrew doesn't like the wording, like Bollig thinks Andrew couldn't _win_ since he's bigger than Andrew, and he's _wrong_ , so Andrew reaches over to punch him again for good measure, and of course he gets caught.

“Andrew Shaw!”

Andrew pretends not to hear, focusing on the work on his desk. If he acts like he didn't do it, no one can prove anything. And if anyone deserves to get in trouble, it's fucking Bollig.

Bollig catches Andrew unaware when he reaches over to punch him back. And the supervising teacher, who is again Mrs. Thompson, catches him. “Brandon Bollig! Do I need to separate you, boys?”

“No ma'am,” Bollig answers immediately, by all rights, sounding equal parts guilty and remorseful. Andrew casts him a sidelong glance and sees that he's frowning toward the front of the room, where Mrs. Thompson is sitting.

“Then behave yourselves.”

Bollig nods and makes a show of looking like he has every intention of focusing on the assignment on his desk, but as soon as Mrs. Thompson looks away he turns to grin at Andrew.

“I'll fight you,” Andrew says for no reason in particular other than it's true. He will.

“Any time, man, any time.”

―

Andrew sits with Kaner in class the next day. He doesn't usually, which causes Kaner to give him a curious look as he slides into the open seat beside him, but Andrew has his reasons. There are questions that Andrew would like answered and there's almost no better man for the job. Kaner knows _everybody_ and everybody's business, which is Andrew's exact reason for searching him out.

“Hey, buddy!” Andrew says right off the bat, giving Kaner a friendly smile and pat on the back. Kaner looks unmoved and doubly suspicious of Andrew.

“What do you want, Shawzy?”

“Hey man, nothing, just to say hey. How's it been? How's mama Kane doing?”

“What do you want, Shawzy?” Kaner asks again.

Huffing, Andrew rolls his eyes and figures if Kaner is going to be this distrustful of his motives, he might as well get straight to the point. “What do you know about Brandon Bollig?”

Kaner stares at him blankly for about three seconds and then snorts, smiling as he leans back in his seat. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know.”

“Are you asking because you want to fight him or because you have a crush on him?” Kaner asks, not totally misguided, but he scowls anyway, because this could be about something else and Kaner should give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still grinning crookedly at Andrew, Kaner swipes a hand through his messy curls, only making them messier ― but at least he finally stopped bathing in hair gel, that was disgusting.

“He's pretty awesome, and a senior. He's the guy who broke Biz Nasty's nose last year.”

“What, seriously?” Andrew blurts, impressed.

“Yeah. I mean, Bollig got pretty fucked up too, but he's a total badass,” Kaner finishes with an almost awed tone.

“Wow, do _you_ have a crush on him, man?” Andrew asks.

“Have a crush on who?” Jonathan Toews interrupts, coming from absolutely nowhere to butt into their private conversation.

Andrew glares at him, but Kaner just smiles, totally unbothered. “Brandon Bollig.”

“He's a bad seed,” Jonny replies, frowning.

“Kaner wants his seed bad,” Andrew says.

Kaner throws his head back, cackling, while Jonny's face goes even more blank and disapproving than it was before. “That's disgusting.” Jonny's clearly talking to Andrew, and before Andrew can tell him that _he's_ disgusting, Jonny gets all intense and up in Kaner's face. “You leave Bollig alone. Get to work,” he commands, jabbing a finger at the open book in front of Kaner.

He practically stomps away from them, leaving Andrew shaking his head and Kaner still beside himself with the giggles. “God, he's so weird,” Andrew mutters.

“He's fine,” Kaner says, sobering up. “But seriously, don't fight Brandon. Fuck him.”

“Mr. Shaw, please move to your correct seat.”

Andrew looks up to the front of the room to see Jonny standing behind the teacher's desk with his arms crossed, glaring at him, while the teacher directs Andrew toward his usual seat with Leddy. And yeah, okay, whatever. Kaner is an unhelpful idiot anyway. As soon as Andrew begins collecting his things together to move, Jonny is striding back across the room, no doubt to take the seat next to Kaner to lecture him on decency or some other ridiculousness. Kaner deserves it for defending the douchebag.

“Movie later?” Leddy asks Andrew as he sits down beside him.

“Yeah, after detention. You can buy me dinner.”

“And you can suck my dick,” Leddy quips.

“We'll just have to see about that,” Andrew replies, slinging his arm over Leddy's shoulder, snuggling up close to him.

“Ugh, get off me.”

Andrew just laughs, taking the couple of elbows Leddy throws his way while still clinging close. Free dinner and movie sounds like a perfect Friday night, even if it is Leddy for company.

―

Detention goes well. With no Bollig there, Andrew thinks he's home free. A whole day that's completely void of Bollig is unsurprisingly nice. Andrew legitimately hopes the guy stays out of trouble just so he doesn't have to put up with him anymore. Maybe, if Andrew is really lucky, their paths will never cross in the future. Andrew would be perfectly okay with never seeing him again.

He's working at keeping himself out of trouble too. A full week without any added time; another week served. It's crazy to think the trend will last forever, because it never does, but he's _trying_. Any time at all that he saves himself from spending in detention is a good thing. Something is better than nothing.

It's a nice reward for a good week to end on, no Bollig in detention and a night spent out with Leddy. Andrew certainly isn't going to complain. Especially not when Leddy buys him a burger and doesn't even bitch about it. It's almost a little suspect, how nice he's being ― picking Andrew up from detention, buying him dinner, paying his way into the movie, and getting them snacks. It puts Andrew on edge.

“I really hope you know I was kidding. There is no way I'm sucking your dick,” Andrew says as they wait for the lights to dim in the theater.

He's not exactly quiet about it, and they get some looks from the people around them. Leddy gives Andrew a dead leg and slings his arm around Andrew's shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “You're not coming anywhere near me with that mouth anyway, man, I have no idea where you've put that thing.”

“So what's this all about then?” Andrew asks, genuinely confused. It's not that Leddy isn't a nice guy, he really is, but in Andrew's experience, he's not nice enough to do this shit without wanting something in return.

“Nothing. Seriously,” Leddy says, but Andrew's disbelief must be obvious because he sighs and goes on. “I didn't have a date for tonight. Who better than you, Shawzer?” Andrew still isn't biting. “Look, we haven't had a chance to hang out much lately and I thought it'd be nice, okay? I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“You see me every day at school, dude. You sit beside me in like all of our classes together.”

“Yeah, but. You know,” Leddy mumbles, shrugging a little.

And Andrew does know, but it's not like there's anything he can really do about it. “Hey, if you want to hang out with me, all you have to do is say so and I'm all yours.” Andrew grins and smacks a kiss to a resistant Leddy's cheek.

“Thought I told you to keep your filthy mouth away from me,” he's grumbling as he wipes Andrew's spit off his face likes it's diseased, but Andrew can see he's fighting back a smile.

“You don't have to keep your mouth away from me.”

Andrew knows that voice before he can even see who it is, and when he does turn to look, he's pleased to find that he isn't wrong. Saader is towering over him, one of his classic coy little smiles already twisting up his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, we all know how you feel about basically any mouth that comes near you,” Leddy grumbles away, still grumpy about having to share his feelings with Andrew or whatever. Screw him, Andrew is having a great night, only made better now that Saad is here.

“Saader!” Andrew crows and practically lunges over the row of seats between them to pull Saad closer. Even though Saad is a whole hell of a lot bigger than Andrew is, he still manages to force him over the back of the seats and into the same row as Andrew and Leddy with a few insistent tugs. Then Andrew really gets on him like he wanted to from the moment he heard his voice. Andrew wraps his arms around Saad's neck, hugging him close, bouncing a little because he's really fucking excited to see him.

“I'm happy to see you too, Shawzy.” Saad laughs, having to bend to make Andrew's hug less awkward.

The lights in the theater dim and Saad takes the seat next to Andrew's, still letting him cling kind of close. They catch up as the previews start, and even as the movie begins, Andrew keeps talking to him, asking him questions and answering any that Saad has. It's good to see him again, to talk to him. It sucks they hardly ever see each other anymore, even less now than Andrew and Leddy, since Saad isn't in any of Andrew's classes.

“We have to hang out more,” Andrew says imploringly. Leddy knuckles him in the ribs and Andrew slaps his hand away, amending his statement for Leddy's sake. “You, me, and Leddy.”

“Yeah, absolutely. Shawzy, the other guys―”

Someone clears their throat pointedly behind them and Andrew turns to glare, because rude, he's trying to have a conversation here. He can't make out much in the darkness, just the light from the movie screen to help, but there's something familiar about the face. He leans more, narrowing his eyes, and then the guy comes forward, closer, and Andrew can see a row of gleaming white teeth, a stubbled jaw, and dark eyes.

This time, he's not happy to proven right when the guy talks. “You're monopolizing my date,” the guy says.

“Bollig?” Andrew questions, just to be sure. He can only hope there's been some kind of terrible mistake with his sight and hearing. The day had been going so well.

“You guys know each other?” Saad asks.

“You're here with _him_?” Andrew demands to know. Saader has to have better taste than that.

“He is,” Bollig answers, and Andrew is immediately snapping back at him, “I didn't ask you,” but he's interrupted by some people a few rows ahead who turn back to hush them loudly.

“Just watch the movie,” Leddy pleads. “We can all catch up after.”

“Speak for yourself,” Andrew bitches, but Leddy punches him in the side to shut him up. It doesn't stop Andrew from glaring though when Bollig decides to come down to their row to take the seat on the other side of Saader. Andrew can see his stupid white teeth when he leans around Saader and smiles at Andrew. He hopes it's light enough that Bollig can see his scowl and glare. At least Saad is there to block Bollig mostly from Andrew's view.

Bollig is annoying through the whole movie, putting his arm around the back of Saad's seat and touching Andrew, despite Andrew repeatedly trying to crush his fingers any time they're near, and Andrew can hear him whispering to Saad about the plot of the movie, which is shit and boring anyway, definitely not worth discussing.

“Bathroom,” Saad whispers as he stands to squeeze his way down the aisle. Andrew can already feel Bollig staring at him, and he rushes to follow Saad.

“Me too,” Andrew says, and Leddy snorts, but Andrew doesn't even think about turning around again.

Saad raises his eyebrows, grinning once they hit the fully lit area outside of the theater. “You have a problem with Bollig?” he asks.

“I have at least eighteen problems with Bollig,” Andrew replies.

Saad chuckles but doesn't press, though he still looks curious. He leads the way to the restrooms, and Andrew waits outside, getting another laugh out of Saad, and a shake of his head.

When he comes back out again, Andrew doesn't hesitate. “Are you really on a date with him?”

“With Bollig?” Saad asks, getting a nod from Andrew. “No, we're just friends.”

“Good,” Andrew says, not even bothering to hide the relief in his voice. “Want to get out of here, then? That movie blows and I can think of several more entertaining things to do.”

“I bet you can.” Saad lets Andrew drag him out one of the side exits.

They don't go far, just around the corner to the back of the building where it's dark and out of the way, where they aren't as likely to be caught. Andrew leans back against the brick wall, pulling Saad in closer to him by the front of his t-shirt. “You still into this?”

“'Course,” Saad says, seemingly happy to be manhandled by Andrew. He gives into Andrew's grip on his shoulders, bending in close, and Andrew kisses him.

It starts off slow and easy ― Andrew's not an animal, okay, he can control himself. It's nice, familiar in a way that kissing someone you've kissed before can be. But it's far from tame, because it is _Andrew_ , and it's Saader, and if there's one thing Saader loves, it's a good makeout that's not complete without some groping.

“Ugh,” Leddy groans, catching them some time later. He looks annoyed and put upon when Andrew manages to unwind his fingers from Saad's hair and blink his eyes open. But Leddy's been stuck with Bollig, so of course he's in a bad mood. “I hate you both,” Leddy says.

“That movie sucked,” is Andrew's excuse, shrugging. Saad gives his hips one last squeeze before he steps away. Bollig is standing back a little ways, looking uncomfortable with his hands in his pockets, not really paying close attention to any of them. Good, at least he isn't talking for once. Andrew can live with that.

“Are you two done macking on each other or do I need to give this one a ride home?” Leddy asks as he jabs a finger in Bollig's direction.

“I can find my own way,” Bollig pipes up, but Saader, ever the hero says, “Naw, we're good, right, Shawzy?”

He's still leaned back against the wall, loose and languid and a bit hard, and he feels good, calm and happy, despite Bollig's best efforts at ruining his night by simply existing. Saader is just that good with his mouth. “Whatever you say,” Andrew replies to Saad's question, getting yet another huff and eye roll out of Leddy, who is all but three seconds away from exploding with laughter. Andrew can see it, can read it; he obviously thinks something is hilarious but he's trying to contain it and not share with the class.

Saader gives Andrew one more kiss before he goes, closed-mouth and boring even when Andrew tries to bite his way in, but it's good anyway. Bollig says bye and waves kind of jerkily before he follows Saad out into the parking lot, and Andrew ignores him.

In Leddy's car, he finally speaks up and asks, “So, Brandon Bollig, huh?” His voice is flat, completely dry-cut and bland, and it's the twitch in his jaw that gives him away.

“What about him?” Andrew presses carefully.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Leddy says.

And, no. Fuck that. What? “He's a fucking menace,” Andrew disagrees.

“Sounds like just your type.”

“Not in a million years.”

Leddy laughs so hard, he almost drives them off the road. Call Andrew slow, but he still doesn't get what the hell is so funny.

―

The weekend sucks. None of the guys are around and it makes for a boring, lonely couple of days spent at home. Homework is a dead end, and video games aren't as much fun in single-player mode, and there's only so much jerking off a guy can do in a forty-eight hour period.

School isn't much better, even if the guys are there. It's either keep quiet in class or start the week off with more time accumulating onto his already hefty detention toll. Lunch goes by too fast, and when he does pass Saader in the hall, he's being tailed by Jonathan Toews, who is literally more likely to cut Andrew's arms off and use them as locker decoration than let Saader sneak off with Andrew to the bathrooms for some class-skipping fun times.

All he gets the whole day is a high-five from Kaner in the hallway, Jonny be damned, and Leddy snickering at him over their chem book for no reason that Andrew can find.

Obviously detention is the not the place that will make the day get magically better. First of all, Bollig is there. Second, Bollig still seems to think he has any reason at all to sit next to Andrew.

“What the fuck,” Andrew mutters to himself when he sees Bollig slide into the seat directly next to him. They really don't put enough space between these desks anymore.

“So. You and Saad?” Bollig asks right away.

Andrew has no intention of talking to Bollig but the question irks him in ways that it shouldn't. It just feels so accusatory. He tries to bury how defensive he feels when he says, “What about me and Saader?”

“You guys are...” Bollig trails off, leaving Andrew to fill in the blank. Which he has no desire to do.

“What?” he asks flatly.

“I don't know. That's what I'm asking.”

“You're asking what me and Saader are? Pretty sure we're human, you fucking piece of shit.” And god, Andrew could kill Bollig, he's being such an asshole, and he's not going to sit there and take that shit at all.

But before he gets that far, Bollig's face is going kind of splotchy red and he's shaking his head. He looks embarrassed and confused. “No, that's not what I... Are you dating him?” Bollig asks outright.

“What if I am?” Andrew retorts, glare flinty and locked on Bollig. His shoulders are set and his fists are clenched. He doesn't give a shit, if he has to get expelled for punching Bollig in the mouth for being a dick, he's damn well going to.

Bollig reaches across the aisle, too fast for Andrew to react, and grabs Andrew's wrist in one of his giant, strong hands, squeezing tight. “Would you stop being defensive for five seconds and just answer my question?” Andrew blinks down at Bollig's finger clasped around his wrist. “Are you and Saad together or not?”

“No,” Andrew answers without a thought. Bollig lets go.

The supervising teacher hasn't so much as looked in their direction, head bent over a stack of tests on his worktable. It's kind of lucky; maybe they weren't being as loud as Andrew thought they were. His heart is racing a little bit and he rubs his wrist as inconspicuously as he can manage.

“That's what he said too. You guys just screw around sometimes then?”

The fight that seemed to have leeched out of Andrew comes back just in time for him not to spill things about Saader that Bollig doesn't need to know if he's never been there. “What is this, twenty questions?” he snaps.

Bollig shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Why? Why do you care? If Saader told you we weren't dating, why would you have to ask me?”

“Just checking,” Bollig answers, sounding almost deceptively calm. His face is still tinted red, though he doesn't look as lost as he did before.

Suddenly, Andrew gets it. He rolls his eyes and shifts his focus back to the worksheets on his desk. Before he manages to zone out on trying to work through his notes, he says, “Saader won't date you. He has better taste than that.”

Bollig snorts, but he leaves it at that, and doesn't bother Andrew through the rest of detention, much to his surprise.

At the end of the hour, Andrew gathers his things together in peace, Bollig silent beside him. It's kind of weird and unexpected, but not unwelcome, and Andrew doesn't say anything, doesn't hesitate long enough for it to be obvious that he was thinking about saying anything.

All his things hefted under his right arm, he uses his free hand to check his phone and his texts, where he finds a message from his mom telling him that she's not going to make it to pick him up. _Call your dad_ , it reads. Andrew curses under his breath and starts walking more slowly toward the parking lot. The last thing he wants to do is call his dad to pick him up from detention. His mom at least tries her best to hide her disappointment, but his dad ― there's not even an effort there. And he can't call Leddy or Kaner or someone to come get him because the team is at an away game today, the bus probably already halfway there. There's not really anyone else.

Swearing again, Andrew glares down at his phone, at his mother's words, and he wants to throw the damn thing. He's at least smart enough to know that's not going to get him anywhere but in more trouble. But at the same time, then he absolutely wouldn't have to call his dad.

“Everything okay?”

Of course it's Bollig standing there when Andrew glances over. “Yeah,” he lies easily. “Everything's cool.”

“You sure, because that's usually where your mom parks,” Bollig says, pointing toward the empty parking space that Andrew's mom takes to wait for him.

“You're such a fucking stalker,” Andrew mutters.

“Show me where you live.”

“So creepy,” Andrew says in reply to that, trying not to laugh at the put-on intense expression that Bollig is wearing.

Bollig wipes as much of the creepiness off his face as he can, some of it still lingering because that's just how he looks. He can't help it and Andrew isn't going to blame him for that. “Do you want a ride or not?”

It's not like Andrew has any other options that he's willing to exhaust, so he nods his answer and follows Bollig over to an older Honda Civic. “Nice ride,” he says.

Bollig looks like he's not too sure if Andrew is being sarcastic about it or not, and doesn't reply. It makes Andrew suspicious of his attachment to the car, so he gets in more carefully than he normally would, closing the door gently behind him.

They don't talk, except for Andrew to give directions to his house. Bollig has music on, and it's not generic pop or any lame ass country, which is a positive.

It takes a whole hell of a lot of effort to work up the words, “Thank you,” when Bollig pulls up Andrew's drive. He manages, but just barely. He can't not say it after Bollig kind of saved him from the torture of a twenty minute car ride with his dad though. And Bollig for once is actually not being a tool. It's nice.

It is obvious this time when Andrew hesitates. He fidgets with his things in his lap, hoping it looks like he's just trying to get them together. He doesn't know what he's waiting for exactly anyway. He shakes his head at himself, rushes out a goodbye, and finally moves to get out, but Bollig stops him.

“Hey, um. Do you want to go out sometime?” Bollig asks. It's not what Andrew expected and he can't think straight enough to answer. Maybe he heard the question wrong.

“What?” he asks, turning back to stare at Bollig, who looks a really odd and contradictory mix of shy and confident.

Bollig shrugs in reply to the question, scratches at his cheek, and then says, “You know. You said you were just fooling around with Saad, so I kind of assumed you were single?”

It comes out like a question, and Andrew is pretty sure he can't still be missing what Bollig is asking him. But he's obviously been misinterpreting pretty much everything else Bollig has said and done since they met, so just to be sure, he repeats, “Go out with you?”

“Yeah,” Bollig replies, sheepish, outwardly calm but nervous enough to be cracking his knuckles repeatedly. He bobs his head for no apparent reason and looks Andrew right in the eye to say, “Go out with me.” It's not a question.

Andrew exhales hard. He's really confused all of a sudden. Not about finding Bollig attractive, because that's a given, but about whether Bollig has really been interested in him, flirting with him since they met. It's a ridiculous thought, especially after the way Andrew has treated him the whole time, for Bollig to really be interested.

“You're serious?” he asks.

“Yeah. You're kind of a cute little shit, you know,” Bollig says, grinning as he casually reaches his arm out to rest it on the seat behind Andrew's head. His thumb brushes the side of Andrew's neck. Andrew turns to look at him, eyes narrowed.

“Did Saader tell you I was easy?”

Bollig's face creases up in a frown. “No. Andrew―”

“Shawzy,” Andrew interrupts him, correcting him. No one actually calls him Andrew who isn't his mom or a teacher.

“Little shit,” Bollig says pointedly, and Andrew rolls his eyes. “Look, I want to go out, not just...”

“Not just hook up,” Andrew finishes for him.

“Not just hook up,” Bollig repeats.

Andrew takes a deep breath, lets it out, and speaks slowly, solemnly, when he says, “You've been really annoying. I don't even like you.”

“You threatened to fight me and I wanted to kiss you more than I've ever wanted to kiss anyone.”

Trying to hide his surprise, Andrew points out, “I still want to fight you.”

“And I'm still offering that any time you want,” Bollig says with a grin.

“I have detention every night for the next two weeks, at least.” Andrew is reaching for excuses now that it's obvious Bollig is serious about this.

But that doesn't deter him. He just shrugs. “Me too.”

“Oh, great,” Andrew replies sarcastically, and Bollig grins. He reaches over and puts his hand back where it was before, once again letting his thumb brush against Andrew's neck. It's really unfair. Andrew's breath catches in his throat a little at the feeling, plus Bollig smiling at him that way. Fuck. “Alright,” he agrees. “If you don't piss me off in detention tomorrow, we can, I don't know, do something after.”

Bollig's grin gets wide enough to show his teeth and his thumbnail scratches deliberately at the sensitive skin behind Andrew's ear. “Just don't tap your pencil,” he warns.

“I'm not making any promises.”

Andrew keeps his game face on as he gets out of the car. Bollig is a different story though, obviously pleased with himself. “See you tomorrow,” he calls.

“Yeah, bye,” Andrew mutters, using his hip to shut the door behind himself, and wincing with his back to Bollig when it slams too hard. Christ. What did he just agree to?

―

Andrew tells Leddy all about it the next day in class. That's a mistake and Andrew regrets it immediately. Not only is his laughter annoying, but it gets them in trouble.

“Would you stop?” Andrew hisses, punching Leddy in the leg under the table.

He's already trying to muffle his laughter behind his hand. It's not working all that well.

“That didn't take long,” he manages to say between giggles.

“He asked me,” Andrew points out.

“Yeah, and you agreed to go out with him. He was all up on me asking about you while you were off fucking around with Saader.”

“He asked you about me?”

Leddy loses it again. “Your _face_ ,” he says, while still cackling.

Andrew is actually thankful when the teacher gets fed up with them and makes Andrew sit in the front of the room. Of course he's the one being punished for Leddy being a loud dickhead, but at least he doesn't have to be near him anymore.

It's not all that hard to ignore Leddy for the rest of the day because while he is extremely annoying, he also gets bored pretty easily and mocking Andrew isn't that fun when Andrew decides not to react to the goading.

In detention though, he does flop down next to Bollig, who's already there with an open seat next to him in the back row.

“Hi,” Bollig says, looking happy to see Andrew, which, whatever.

“You asked Leddy about me?” Andrew demands.

Bollig's smile falls. “Uh. Kind of?”

“Ugh, why would you do that?” Andrew groans.

“Because he's your friend, and I thought... Is he being a dick to you or something? Do I need to talk to him?”

Andrew looks up from the papers he's carelessly shuffling around his desk and stares at Bollig, wondering if he's being serious. From the look on his face, he is; he genuinely looks concerned. “Are you kidding?”

“Well,” Bollig starts, faltering, and Andrew snorts. Because he isn't kidding. Bollig is serious.

“Wow. Just because I'm small doesn't mean―”

“Hey,” Bollig cuts him off, reaching across the short distance between their seats to grab Andrew's arm. “That's not what I was saying, all right. I know you can take care of yourself but he's your friend and if he's being a dick, I don't want him giving you shit because of something I said.”

“Leddy is always a dick, but if he needs talking to, I'll be the one to do it. How about next time you've got something to ask, you just ask me yourself?” Andrew counters, using the same firm tone that Bollig had.

Andrew doesn't realize that he's leaned in so close until Bollig says, “Sure thing,” and he catches himself staring at Bollig's mouth. “We still on for tonight?”

Andrew forces his eyes away from Bollig's lips and shrugs out of Bollig's hold on his arm. “We'll see,” he says, turning back to his desk. He has to fight off a grin when he hears Bollig mutter, “Fucking little shit.”

None of his homework gets done as he waits for the hour to pass. As soon as he starts to work on it, he habitually taps his pencil without noticing, which in turn pisses off Bollig. And of course that only makes Andrew want to tap his pencil harder, but he's distracted from that urge when it really sinks in that he is going out on a date with this guy. Most of the hour is spent thinking about that, and why exactly Andrew agreed to go out with him.

It's not like it will be that bad, unless it really is. Bad dates are kind of Andrew's specialty. He's just better at the whole hooking up thing, no strings attached. He's not entirely convinced that isn't what Bollig is looking for anyway. The timing is pretty incriminating considering it wasn't until after he found out about Saader that he asked Andrew out. Andrew isn't ashamed of the things he and Saader have done. But Andrew's not sure he likes Bollig enough to do all that with him, date or not.

“Where are we going anyway?” Andrew asks as he's following Bollig out to his car for the second day in a row.

“You'll see,” Bollig replies, giving nothing else away as he smirks over his shoulder at Andrew.

“You're so creepy. Why should I get in the car with you when you won't even tell me where we're going?”

“Because you're not afraid of me,” Bollig says as he gets into the car and leans over to unlock the passenger side door for Andrew.

“Should I be?” Andrew asks, more jokingly than anything. Bollig may be tall and broad and just as strong and solid as he looks, but he's not all that frightening. He smiles a lot, which might be what creeps Andrew out so much.

“Only if you don't like fun things and good times.”

Andrew rolls his eyes at the lame answer and gets into the car. Bollig tries to make small talk while he's driving, but he's pretty bad at it and seems to get the point when Andrew reaches over and turns the radio up. It's not all that surprising when Bollig drives them into the miniature golf course parking lot. Andrew rolls his eyes again. He lets Bollig pay his way in without much of a fuss because he hasn't paid for a round of putt-putt since he was twelve and it seems like a bad time to start.

“So, you're a junior? Any plans for college?” Bollig asks as they're walking their way around to the start of the course.

“Why are you asking?” Andrew asks in return instead of answering Bollig's question as he sets up his ball on the little rubber tee. He catches Bollig staring at his ass while he's bent over, which only reaffirms his own question.

“Because I want to know more about you,” Bollig says once Andrew has stood back up.

“Do you, really?” Andrew asks, glancing over his shoulder as he takes his stance. He might be wiggling his ass a little more than necessary and when Bollig looks again Andrew snorts and takes his putt.

It's a pretty easy first hole, just an 'L' shape on a slight incline. A par two. Andrew gets a lucky bounce off the board that encloses the course and sinks it in one. He grins a little to himself and goes to collect his ball.

Bollig catches his wrist before he walks away and pulls him back. “Yeah, I do. Really,” he says, all up in Andrew's face. “Lucky shot,” he tacks on, smirking a little before he lets Andrew go.

It's Bollig's turn, and Andrew returns the favor and stares at his ass while he gets his ball teed up. On his putt, Bollig gets the ball around the corner but not all the way up the incline. Andrew collects his neon pink ball from the hole and moves on to the next one.

“No, I don't have any plans for college yet,” he answers Bollig's question just before he takes his next shot.

Bollig doesn't tell him that he should start planning or anything like that like most people do. Andrew doesn't get the chance to ask Bollig about his own plans before Bollig is moving on and asking him if he has any siblings.

They spend some time talking about family, working their way through the next couple of holes, and Andrew is slowly but surely taking a comfortable lead. Bollig doesn't suck, but he's not getting the bounces that Andrew is. He doesn't seem to be competing for the win like Andrew is though either.

Andrew is just getting ready to swing on the windmill course when Bollig asks, “Are you gay or bi?”

Andrew beefs it and hits the windmill about four inches away from the tunnel that would take his ball through to the other side. “Uh,” he hesitates.

“You don't have to answer,” Bollig says.

It's not like the question should surprise him that much, but he's not used to being asked, and it feels so much more personal than what his parents' names are. The only other person to ever ask him was Kaner, who he's known for years and is a nosy fucker to boot on top of that.

“Gay,” Andrew answers before he taps the ball easily through the tunnel.

Bollig nods, unfazed. “Are you out?”

“I guess,” Andrew says, shrugging. “It's not something I've made a point of telling everyone, but it's not really a secret or anything either. You?”

“About the same,” Bollig answers, swinging his club back and forth between his fingers.

A little less than forthcoming, but Bollig didn't press when Andrew hesitated, and Andrew isn't going to press either.

Bollig keeps up his questions all the way through the course, and the closer they get to the end, the more sure Andrew is that he's going to win. He finds himself babbling his way through the last few holes, comfortable and more like himself than he's been willing to be with Bollig until that point. It helps that Bollig isn't pissing him off.

It's easy for Andrew to chirp Bollig about beating him, and even easier to chirp him when they're back in the car again and instead of driving Andrew home, he takes him out for dinner. It's not the fact that he's taking Andrew to dinner that gets him riled, but that it's at Pizza Hut.

“Minigolf and Pizza Hut. I'm not sure if I should be offended or ― no, I think the only acceptable reaction to this being your idea of a date is offense.”

And Bollig just takes it. The chirping and Andrew ragging on him, he takes it with a smile and says things that only make Andrew more worked up like, “I let you win,” and, “You know you love it. This is the best date you've ever been on.”

The sad part is that it's true. Not him letting Andrew win ― because that's a fucking lie, Andrew beat him fair and square ― but about the date. Andrew is having a great time, and it shouldn't be, but there's really no denying that it's the best first date he's ever had.

Andrew follows Bollig through the entrance, still laughing because _Pizza Hut_. He shoulders Bollig out of his way once they get to the counter and orders a large with everything, wings, cheese sticks, and some cinnamon bread while he's at it. Bollig is trying to protest but the cashier looks about as interested in all that as Andrew is as he slaps down some cash and takes the plastic number he's handed. They get a booth in the back. The place is dead and their order shouldn't take long.

“You should have let me pay,” Bollig says, sliding into the seat across from Andrew.

“Why? You paid for the minigolf,” Andrew reminds him as he flicks the crumpled up paper from his straw at Bollig's head.

Bollig brushes it aside, unbothered, and continues to stare at Andrew. “Yeah, but I wanted to pay. I asked you out.”

“So? I said yes. And it's fucking Pizza Hut, man, it's not like it's a big deal. Maybe next time you can spring for some McDonalds, you know, really show me a good time.”

He makes a disgruntled sound and kicks Andrew under the table, though it's not hard enough to hurt. Andrew still kicks him back. “Next time?” Bollig repeats questioningly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Unless of course you're not enjoying yourself and plan to let someone else discover the joys of all this,” Andrew says, rubbing his hands over his chest.

Bollig's eyes track the movement of Andrew's hands and Andrew smirks. “I never said I wasn't enjoying myself. I'm surprised to hear you admit that you are, considering all you've done is complain.”

“I haven't once complained,” Andrew retorts, pushing his hands to his chest and trying to force cleavage that isn't there. Bollig is still watching him. “It's called aggressive flirtation.”

Finally, Bollig looks up at Andrew's face again. “Aggressive flirtation?” he echoes.

Leaning forward, Andrew hooks his finger into the neck of his shirt and pulls it down. Bollig's eyes follow down the gap, over the skin that Andrew's revealed. “Yeah. Is it working?” Andrew asks, dropping his voice to a low, quiet whisper.

“God, would you stop?” Bollig snaps, looking back up to Andrew's face and glaring at him.

Andrew lets his shirt settle into place and leans back against the seat. “Am I making you hot?” he breathes with his voice still dropped low.

Their pizza is coming, so Andrew stays leaned back while it's being put down. “I'll be right back with the rest,” she says, smiling at them both.

“Thank you,” Bollig replies.

“Thanks.” Andrew uses that same affected deep voice and smiles up at her. Bollig kicks him under the table again while she blushes and hurries off. Andrew waits until she's out of earshot to crack up.

“You're just a tease, aren't you?” Bollig asks while Andrew is busy laughing.

“Could be. You may never know.”

Too hungry to continue fucking around, Andrew digs into the pizza, kind of flailing around like an idiot once he takes a bite because it's even hotter than he realized. Bollig shakes his head but only waits as long as it takes to pick the peppers off his slice before he does the same.

They eat just as much as Andrew figured they would. There's not much left for doggiebags, but he boxes it up and shoves it across the table at Bollig anyway.

“It's been fun,” Andrew says.

“Yeah,” Bollig agrees. He looks at his watch and then at Andrew again and Andrew shifts in his seat, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. They're sitting in a Pizza Hut booth on their first date, Andrew doesn't want it to end, and he's wondering how much trouble he'd get in for pushing Bollig down on the table and making out with him. “Do you need to be home soon?” Bollig asks.

It's only seven, and even on a school night, his parents won't be mad as long as he's home before ten. “No.”

Bollig grins slowly and Andrew's stomach twists. Maybe their night of putt-putt and cheap pizza will end with some shitty cramped backseat car sex. Andrew always wanted to be a walking cliché. “Good. I really only brought you here for one reason.”

Frowning, Andrew follows Bollig as he walks away. They round the corner and Bollig keeps walking on into the play area.

“Uh,” Andrew hesitates, shooting Bollig a confused look. Bollig grabs his hand a pulls him forward. “You're not fucking serious?” Andrew asks, but Bollig just keeps dragging him along, up a few stairs to a landing that leads to the ballpit. “Is this a joke about my height, because I swear to God, I'll kill you.”

Bollig shoves him into the ballpit without answering, and jumps in right after him. It's deeper than Andrew was expecting and they both land in with a crash. He blames his surprise for letting Bollig bury him in a sea of plastic balls as Bollig wades through and makes it to the other side. He crashes out of the ballpit and out of sight before Andrew can even blink.

“You fucker,” Andrew swears, trying to swim his way out to chase after him. He knows Bollig went left out of the ballpit so he follows that way, though Bollig is nowhere in sight. There's a bridge and then a little further up another fork, one way is a ramp upwards and the other is a tunnel. The tunnel is tiny, Bollig barely would have fit through. Deliberating, Andrew decides to go through the tunnel, because it's Bollig, and he would. But halfway through he hears resounding footsteps above him and quickly backs out, darting up the ramp. There are some weird ass mirrors up there that distract Andrew momentarily, but he spots the bridge that Bollig was stomping across. It's one of those ones that move when it's stepped on and he tries to go over it slowly so it won't make so much noise, but it's still a dead giveaway so he quits on that and runs the rest of the way.

He finds Bollig at the very top of the tower, sitting there all smug in the opening of the slide that leads all the way back down to the ballpit.

“Hi,” he says once Andrew finishes climbing the stairs up into the cramped space.

“What are you, five?” Andrew asks, but he sits down across from Bollig. There's not much room, even Andrew's legs reach from one end to the other. Bollig looks kind of hilarious in the small mouth of the slide, hunched over a little to fit, his knees bent up toward his body.

“Are you flirting aggressively again?” Bollig questions him back. The smirk on his mouth makes it pretty clear that he thinks Andrew is.

So Andrew plays along. “Maybe,” he says. He tries to look coy as he gets up on his knees and moves closer, smiling just a little. Bollig's eyes widen as Andrew draws nearer, gets close enough to lay his palm flat against Bollig's chest. “Do you think I'm flirting with you?”

He's kneeling between Bollig's knees, reveling in the feeling of Bollig's heart pounding beneath his fingers, while Bollig is just sitting there staring at him, slack jawed. Andrew leans in a little closer, licking his lips to try to keep from laughing, and Bollig's mouth pops but nothing comes out.

The best part is that Bollig is falling for it so easily. There's no resistance there when Andrew shoves him backwards. Bollig tries to grab the lip of the slide but his fingers slip against the plastic and Andrew grabs his thighs and shoves him down.

“Fuck,” Andrew hears Bollig swear as he slips down out of sight.

Andrew cackles and tramples down the stairs. Bollig lands into the ballpit at the bottom with a crash just as Andrew disappears into one of the tunnels, crawling as quickly as he can. All the tunnels are pretty narrow and Andrew keeps to them. The thought of Bollig having to squeeze his way through each to find him is pretty hilarious. This whole thing was his idea, and Andrew is going to make him regret it.

He meets a dead end pretty quickly. The tunnel leads into an alcove with a clear plastic dome that looks over the whole thing. If he sits right up against the dome, Bollig won't be able to see him unless he crawls all the way inside. It takes Bollig a while, and it's kind of great because Andrew can see him searching below. He never actually leaves the play area, is the thing, even though Andrew would have had every chance to slip out unnoticed and end their little game. Bollig seems confident that Andrew wouldn't.

Andrew hears Bollig's footsteps as he approaches the tunnel. He squeezes up against the plastic and waits to see if Bollig moves on. With his phone out ― already set to silent ― he pretends to hardly notice when Bollig crawls in.

“Having fun?” Bollig asks him, and Andrew finally looks up. Bollig is lying in the tunnel, and his feet are probably dangling out the other end, he's so big.

“Watching you run around for the last ten minutes looking for me? Yeah, that was pretty fun,” Andrew answers, smirking.

“That was a pretty dirty move you pulled back there.”

“No one ever said I had to fight fair.”

“No one ever said you had to fight at all.”

“But I like to fight.”

“I guess it's just lucky that I like it too. Since I like you. Kind of a lot.”

The silence hangs after that, and Andrew glances over at Bollig, who is just staring at him expectantly, waiting for his response. It's really annoying. Andrew sighs, rolling his eyes. “All right, fine, you're not as bad as I expected. This whole date thing has been pretty good. I may even be willing to do it again. But I don't have your number so you should give me that.”

Bollig seems pretty pleased with Andrew's admission; he's grinning as he prattles off his number. Andrew keys it in and sends off a text ― _hey i just met u ur face is crazy but heres my number blow me baby_ , it says. Bollig's phone chimes when it goes through but he doesn't pull it out to check it, just grins wider at Andrew, and that just proves Andrew's point.

It winds down pretty quickly from there. They just sit talking for a while, and Bollig drives Andrew home. It's kind of nice. Andrew doesn't get out right away when Bollig pulls up to the house, and the hesitation has Bollig sliding the car into park. Andrew waits.

“So,” Andrew says, drawing the word out. Bollig looks him over, like he's sizing him up, but doesn't actually move. “Uh. Are we going to do this again sometime or what?” He expected Bollig to ask him, but he hasn't yet and Andrew doesn't have the patience to wonder if he will or not. Andrew also isn't going to pretend like he's good with words. He just wants an answer.

“If you want to,” is all Bollig says.

“Well, clearly. I'm asking, man. Do _you_ want to?” Andrew asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

The urge to punch him had been gone for long enough that Andrew thought it might have actually started to fade. But nope, there it is. Shaking his head, he says, “Friday work for you?” Bollig nods. “I'll plan this one if you don't mind driving. We can go straight from school. Don't wear anything nice, eh?”

Andrew smirks but Bollig just says, “All right,” and leaves it at that.

“Okay then. Goodnight, I guess?” It's a question. Andrew was expecting more, but Bollig is just sitting there gripping the steering wheel, staring at him like a complete weirdo.

“Goodnight,” Bollig replies.

Andrew delays for about three more seconds, but Bollig doesn't move, so Andrew is forced to get out. A little confused, a little pissed off, and a lot unsure, he walks up to the house and lets himself in.

To him, it seemed like things were going well, right up until Bollig decided to get weird in the driveway. Honestly, he thought Bollig would kiss him, at least. But he didn't even try. Maybe it didn't go as well as Andrew thought. Maybe Bollig doesn't actually like him as much as he said. Maybe Bollig is just actually that fucking infuriating. That seems pretty likely to Andrew.

―

Homework sucks. There's nothing more to it. Andrew does the best that he can but more often than not it seems like the only response his teachers have is that it's still not good enough. His parents tried a tutor once but Andrew beat him up the first day when he basically did nothing but call Andrew stupid.

It's not ― Andrew doesn't think he's _stupid_ , but his grades hardly reflect that. All the signs seem to point to him being actually, literally stupid, but he doesn't feel that way. It's more like he can't find enough focus to actually take in what he's supposed to be learning. If he tries really, really hard, it starts to stick, but usually at that point, he's had enough and doesn't have the energy to actually do the work he just figured out.

Hockey used to help. The fact that he's not allowed to play anymore kind of fucked that all to hell. His grades weren't great to begin with, and when he started to get into more serious trouble ― the constant detention, getting expelled for fighting, and that type of shit ― he got kicked off the team. It hasn't been easy.

It seemed pointless at first, to try to get back on the team. With his grades barely getting him by and his inability to stay out of trouble, it seemed farfetched. His coaches were never overly impressed with him to begin with.

For a while it seemed like his dad was the most disappointed. He's still that way, constantly giving Andrew these _looks_ that make it clear how unhappy he is that Andrew failed to succeed. But the truth is that after a while it finally sank in for Andrew that he really fucking misses hockey. It took a couple of months, but he realized eventually that shit wasn't easier without hockey.

When he had hockey to fall back on, it was a way to get at least some of the frustration he felt off his back. The skating, the battles for the puck, the desire to win, and all the work it took for the elation of scoring a goal ― the energy he put into playing helped him keep his shit calm. Not enough to keep him out of trouble, obviously, but now that he knows ― _knows_ what it's like without hockey, he tries a little harder.

He wants it back. At first it seemed like something he could give up, but that nagging feeling like he couldn't move on never really went away. He tries to stay out of trouble ― tries really fucking hard, and okay, mostly doesn't succeed, but he's got to keep trying. And he tries to get his grades up, to keep them somewhere far enough above passing to prove he's putting in an extra effort, but that doesn't really work either.

Because the homework fucking sucks.

He chucks the book across the room and rests his head against the desk in his room, pulling his own hair. It feels so pointless more often than not. He was never a star on the team, anyway, not _that_ good, and he kind of spent a lot of time in the penalty box, but he could still play. Sometimes out there with the top guys on the powerplay, sometimes getting bottom quality minutes but still going out there every shift with the will to win. He fucking misses it. A lot. His team, and the game, and the feeling that he's not completely fucking useless because at least sometimes he could score a goal when he was allowed to _play_.

Pounding his fists on the desk, he goes to find where his book landed and flips back to the page he was working on, getting back to it.

―

 

―

Bollig has been better about not being an annoying dickhead in detention. It's not as great as Andrew thought it would be, because when Bollig isn't looking at him or punching him or talking to him, it feels like he's not paying attention to Andrew, and that's even worse. He asked Andrew _out_. He took him on a _date_. And it went so well too, but he didn't kiss Andrew and he hasn't paid as much attention to Andrew since, and it's really fucking frustrating for Andrew because he doesn't know what Bollig wants.

He taps his pencil incessantly. He does it on purpose and watches Bollig almost twitch himself into a seizure. But Bollig doesn't do a thing about it. He doesn't bitch at Andrew or grab him or threaten to tear his fingers off and shove them down his throat.

And Andrew leans over and pushes right into Bollig's space and flirts with him constantly and touches him and gets in trouble so many times for trying to talk to him. It feels like the tables have flipped, and Andrew's the one annoying the shit out of Bollig now, only Bollig is so much better at ignoring it than Andrew was.

It pisses him off. Like, he's just got no idea what Bollig is doing, or why he's doing it. It's not as if he's indifferent now or anything. He still talks to Andrew and grins in that really creepy attractive terrifying hot way, and occasionally Andrew catches Bollig looking at him like he's something to eat ― which is as creepy hot as his smile ― but he doesn't do anything about it. The most he touches Andrew is when he walks with him out to his mom's car, his hand on the small of Andrew's back.

And yeah, okay, they're always in public, so it's not exactly like Bollig can throw him down on the floor and grab his dick, but he hasn't done _anything_ and it's driving Andrew crazy. Sure, it's only been the one date so far, but the asshole seemed more interested in getting into Andrew's pants before Andrew agreed to go out with him than he does now that Andrew is interested back.

Once Friday rolls around though, Bollig is ready to head out straight after detention as planned. They walk out to Bollig's car together, and Bollig kind of just lets Andrew take over the conversation, telling some stupid story about Leddy. The story gets kind of fragmented and stilted once he has to start giving Bollig directions ― and he refuses to tell Bollig where they're actually going, since Bollig had done the same to him ― and he kind of loses track of it and drops it before he gets to the funniest part.

He doesn't think Bollig was probably listening anyway, or that he cared, probably just waiting for Andrew to tell him when to turn and thankful once Andrew finally shuts up. It's a little surprising when Bollig reaches over to squeeze his knee and says, “And then?”

“Huh?” Andrew asks, looking down at Bollig's hand still resting on his leg.

“Leddy knocked over the trashcan and then?”

“I didn't think you were listening,” Andrew says bluntly.

They're stopped at a light so Bollig can safely look over at him without like, killing them. And he does, meeting Andrew's eyes and squeezing one last time at Andrew's knee before he moves his hand away. “Yeah, I was listening. Tell me what happened.”

Andrew has a weird feeling in his stomach as he stares at the side of Bollig's face. Bollig's just... he's really attractive. He grins when he catches Andrew staring, and Andrew shakes it off, whatever the fuck it was.

He finishes the story, tells Bollig about the raccoon that was in the garbage can Leddy knocked over and how it scratched Leddy and he had to get rabies shots and it was the fucking funniest thing ever. Andrew's laughing by the end of it, remembering the horrified look on Leddy's face when they told him he needed a series of shots in the ass, even though he insisted it only scratched him. Bollig laughs too.

“Extreme Sports Center,” Bollig announces when Andrew directs him into the lot. “Nice.”

“Yeah, I mean, it's not like, _mini golf_ , or climbing on play sets intended for five year olds, but.” He shrugs, grinning hugely when Bollig shoves him. He really hopes that there is never a day that making fun of Bollig for their first date gets old.

“Nothing beats shooting at the person you're on a date with, man. Great choice,” Bollig says as they're heading up to the entrance.

Andrew punches him in the arm. “Fuck you. You're just scared I'm gonna beat your ass again.”

“Oh, it's on,” Bollig replies.

And then he proceeds to demolish Andrew in laser tag. He's fast ― way faster than Andrew expected ― and even though he's a big target, he is not an easy target. Andrew makes them switch over to paintball after two rounds because he hopes Bollig isn't as good at that.

That's not the case. Once they've finished ― Bollig the undisputed victor ― Andrew is sweaty and tired and sore and he knows he's going to be covered in welts and bruises from all the shots he took. He didn't know how long they'd end up staying out and he didn't exactly plan ahead for dinner, so he just tells Bollig to take him to McDonalds.

It's not like it matters. They're just hungry and considering how filthy they are, they can't go in anywhere. Andrew would love to show up Bollig's poor taste, but he can't be bothered after exhausting himself running around with a paintball gun.

“So classy,” Bollig mutters, and when Andrew catches him staring, he makes sure to be extra disgusting, shoving another nugget in his mouth and chewing with his mouth open. It's probably pretty gross, but Bollig laughs at him and that's all Andrew was really going for.

Bollig drives him home, and it's just as uncomfortable as the first time when they pull up to Andrew's house. He just sits there, not looking at Andrew, and kind of clutching at the steering wheel. What the fuck ever.

“Do you want to come in? I've got some homework. We can hang for a while,” Andrew says.

It makes Bollig relax a little, loosen up his hold on the wheel and actually look over at Andrew. “Are your parents home?” he asks.

Andrew shrugs. “Probably.”

“Sure,” Bollig says.

“You can shower, if you want. Jase probably has some sweats or something that will fit you,” Andrew mumbles as he leads Bollig in. They're both juggling a couple of school books, so Andrew just nods at his parents once they get inside and says, “Hey, this is Bollig. We've got homework,” and heads for the stairs.

But Bollig pauses and tucks his books up under his elbow and like, goes up to shake Andrew's dad's hand and say, “It's Brandon,” and gets both of their names and says it's nice to meet them. Andrew just rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath about what a suck up _Brandon_ is as they finally make their way up to his bedroom.

“Isn't it better if they like me?” Bollig asks.

Andrew stares at him for a second as they reach the top of the stairs, letting that sink in. He's probably right. But still, Andrew isn't about to admit that. “They're probably just suspicious of you now. Or they're going to like, expect me to have manners in the future and shit. Thanks a lot, fucker.”

Bollig snorts, grinning in that huge creepy hot way of his. Andrew gets a little distracted by his teeth and his lips and the way his mouth is shaped and how he's got some great stubble happening and Andrew wants to feel all of it ― preferably all over his body. He forces himself to look away and turns to kick his door open, throwing his books down on his bed.

“Wait here,” he says and then goes down the hall to Jason's room. It's open so he goes in and starts digging through Jason's dresser drawers. He's not home; he's still got hockey, but he won't miss a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt. “They'll still probably be too short but you'll live.” Andrew shoves the clothes into Bollig's arms and grabs his wrist to drag him toward the bathroom. “Towels are here.” He points and then leaves Bollig to it.

He uses the downstairs shower and ignores the looks his parents give him as he practically runs past the living room where they're sitting, watching a movie. Andrew is tempted to jerk off, and the thought that Bollig is upstairs in his shower, possibly doing just that, makes it really hard not to. But the fact that Bollig is there, and maybe, _maybe_ willing to do it for him, keeps Andrew's hands off himself.

It doesn't take him long, just a quick scrub down to get most of the paint and sweat off and he's good. Bollig is just coming out of the bathroom once Andrew gets back up the stairs, and he's kind of glad he decided not to jerk off, since Bollig apparently didn't either ― unless he's really, really fast.

Andrew's bedroom is a mess, and he can't be bothered to do much more than kick some of the shit out of the way so Bollig can walk in without stepping on discarded belts and shin pads. The bed is unmade so he just yanks the blanket off and throws it on the floor and spreads his hands out, offering up his twin mattress as a workspace. “This good?” he asks.

Bollig shrugs and nods and perches on the edge with his books on his lap and looks no less comfortable when Andrew skirts around him to go close the bedroom door.

“You plan on staying a while or not? Relax, man,” Andrew says, knocking one of his shoulders against Bollig's as he walks past him again. He sits on the bed beside him, though he keeps his distance since Bollig is still being a weirdo.

Seeing Andrew sit must calm him down a little because he matches Andrew's position, leaned back against the wall with his legs dangling off the edge of the narrow bed. He looks pretty comfortable there, with a booklet open in his lap. Andrew digs out one of his own assignments and tries to get to work.

The problem is that even though Bollig isn't doing anything besides quietly reading, he's distracting Andrew. Simply by being there. Maybe it's the fact that they're on Andrew's bed, alone in his room. Maybe it's about how frustratingly distant Bollig has been. Whatever it is, Andrew can't focus.

He just... he can hear Bollig breathing and see him perfectly out of the corner of his eye. He's right there, and Andrew can't stop thinking about how they haven't kissed yet. Not even a little. And it makes no sense to Andrew. Not only because it's not what he's used to, but all signs were firmly pointed at go before their first date, when Bollig touched Andrew all the fucking time and _told him_ how bad he wanted to make out. If something's changed, Andrew's not sure what it is or why. If Bollig liked him enough to do it then, he should like him enough to do it now.

Andrew closes the distance between them quickly, too fast for Bollig to see him coming. He swings a leg across Bollig's lap and straddles his thighs but before he can really sit down on him and put some weight into it, Bollig gets a hold on him by the hips and holds him firmly in place. The booklet Bollig had been reading is on the floor, knocked from his lap when Andrew swung his leg over. Bollig's focus is all on him.

“What are you doing?” Bollig asks, staring at Andrew and keeping him held in place even as Andrew struggles to drop down onto Bollig's thighs.

Andrew places his hands on Bollig's shoulders and squeezes. Direct seems like the best approach. Andrew isn't exactly the type to beat around the bush anyway and he wants to know what the fuck is up. “Why haven't you tried to kiss me yet?”

Bollig doesn't look surprised by the question. If anything, it seems to be what he was expecting. There's not even a hint of embarrassment or discomfort; his eyes stay on Andrew's unwaveringly. “I don't want to be just another one of those guys.”

Honestly, Andrew is being genuine when he asks, “What guys?” He gets it though when Bollig scoffs at him and his eyes widen. He didn't think he'd be the one to end up surprised here. “Seriously?” he questions. “Jesus. Just how easy did Saader say I was?”

He moves to back off, but Bollig doesn't let that happen either, hands still locked around Andrew's hips and keeping him still.

“I don't care,” Bollig starts, and then it's Andrew's turn to scoff. “I don't,” Bollig repeats evenly.

That's a little hard to believe, considering the circumstances. But Bollig really shouldn't care, is the point Andrew clearly has to make here. “Look,” he says. “As much as I fucked around with Saader, it does not mean I've done the same with anyone else. And anything that Leddy tells you should be fucking ignored because he's a lying sack of shit. I thought I made it clear that if you had something you wanted to know, you should ask me.”

He uses the leverage on Bollig's shoulders to try to shove himself away again but Bollig's got him held in place like a vice grip. “How many boyfriends have you had?” Bollig asks him, completely sincere.

That stops Andrew up, because he thought Bollig would ask him how many guys he's fucked around with or something like that. Not about boyfriends.

“Um,” he hesitates. It's a harder question to answer than one about the number of dudes he's nailed because he actually knows the answer to that, but boyfriends? There are guys he's just done stuff with and guys he's gone on a date and done stuff with but... No one has really ever been his boyfriend. “I don't really... None?” It comes out like a question, unsure.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Bollig says, easing up on where his fingers were previously digging into Andrew's hips and sliding lightly up his sides, no longer holding him in place, just resting there. “I want to get to know you better. And I want to kiss you, but I haven't tried yet because you told me you didn't even like me when I asked you out. Maybe I'm just waiting for you to change your mind. Maybe I'm waiting for you to kiss me.”

“I totally would have, but you wouldn't let me,” Andrew replies, and gets another set of bruises when Bollig digs his fingers in at his snarky tone.

“Nothing stopping you now except the fact that if you kiss me, it means you want to be my boyfriend too.”

Andrew leans in, almost all the way, but not quite. “Is that a challenge?” he asks.

Bollig just raises his eyebrows, _daring_ him. And yeah, that's a motherfucking challenge right there.

“Maybe I do want to be your boyfriend,” Andrew says, mimicking Bollig. “Maybe I want to write 'Shawzy and Bollig forever' all over my notebooks and hold your hand and shit.”

“Maybe I want you to want that.”

Bollig is right there. Andrew doesn't know what he's waiting for, what either of them is waiting for. Only, it feels like someone is supposed to break here, because Bollig _challenged_ him, and whoever breaks first loses. Or wins. Andrew doesn't really know. Bollig is just right there, staring at him like a fucking weirdo, with that look. The one that is daring Andrew to _do it, kiss him, come on_.

Andrew starts laughing after a couple more seconds of it. The look on Bollig's face is too much to take close range. He looks so stupid and so good at the same time. Seriously intense and focused on Andrew, and undoubtedly his intention isn't to make Andrew laugh, but it's the result he gets because Andrew won't break first, here. For no other reason than it seemed like Bollig thought he could win, somehow beat Andrew. Not a chance.

Andrew is still laughing when Bollig catches hold of his face between his huge hands and pulls him in. It's a terrible kiss. Terrible in the same way that their first date was. Andrew wants to hate it on principle, because he wasn't ready for it and he ends up kind of laughing into Bollig's mouth, which is awkward, but it's like ― it's _Bollig_ , and that's all it really takes. Just a clumsy, poorly-timed press of lips, an awful first kiss, and Andrew is gone for him.

There's a scowl on Bollig's face when Andrew opens his eyes again, and Andrew's not sobered up completely, snorting because he's trying to keep the laughter contained. “What are _you_ waiting for?” Bollig questions him gruffly, like he doesn't understand. Which is okay, since Andrew doesn't either.

His fingers catch on the rough stubble under Bollig's jaw and he leaves his hand there, thumb pressed in to feel the quick bob of Bollig's Adam's apple when Andrew tilts his head back, making it thud lightly against the wall. He stays still for Andrew, just watching as he leans in. It's a whole hell of a lot less awkward this time. Bollig knows what's coming when Andrew kisses him.

It's not a long or lingering kiss, though it's not over too quickly either, except it definitely feels like it to Andrew just as soon as they aren't kissing anymore. There's a few breaths between, not enough time to move or talk, only to take it all in, and then Andrew kisses him again. Bollig's hands land on Andrew's sides and clutch, pulling at his shirt and bringing him in closer. Andrew drops his weight down into Bollig's lap, losing the slight height advantage he had before, but Bollig goes with it easily. Letting himself sink further into the kiss, closer to the warm press of Bollig's body, Andrew moves the hand he had placed at Bollig's throat back over to his shoulder.

“Wait,” Bollig says, breaking the kiss unexpectedly and shoving at Andrew, pushing him away. Which is the last thing Andrew wants, and he digs his fingers into the muscle of Bollig's shoulders and clamps his knees around Bollig's sides.

“What,” Andrew asks flatly, barely a question in his derision.

“Your parents. What if they catch us?”

Andrew tries to shake Bollig with the hold he has on him, but Bollig is stiff enough that it doesn't really work. “Dude. So? I told you they know I'm into guys, and it's not like it's anyone's fault but their own if they walk in on something they don't want to see. That's what doors and knocking are for, fucking duh.”

“Jesus,” Bollig mutters, swiping his hand through his hair. Frankly, he looks like he's wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.

Andrew settles his hand on Bollig's jaw again and leans in, kissing him lightly, just once, before sinking his teeth into Bollig's lower lip. A reminder. Andrew is what he's gotten himself, and he damn well better fucking like it.

Based on the way Bollig groans, Andrew thinks he does, though he manages to shove Andrew away a whole five seconds later once Andrew tries to kiss him again. “You said you have homework.”

“Who gives a fuck about homework?” Andrew asks.

It's unfair that Bollig is so much bigger and knows it. He uses it against Andrew, his size and strength, and it's useless for Andrew to even try to overpower him if Bollig really wants something. That's obvious when Andrew attempts to work his way into full on making out with Bollig and ends up on the floor for his troubles. Shoved fully off the bed with the easiest of pushes from Bollig.

“You fucker,” Andrew swears, jumping to his feet.

“You give a fuck about homework,” Bollig interrupts before Andrew can really get going.

“Not more than―” Andrew starts, but Bollig knocks him back down onto the bed, pushes some of his books into his lap, and digs his fingers into Andrew's thighs ― a warning to stay there.

“Come on,” Bollig says. Andrew finds he can't bring himself to move even after Bollig lets go of his leg, slack-jawed and thumbing through his book mindlessly. He doesn't expect to be able to focus. For once, he doesn't even have to think about it.

―

Saturdays are boring as shit without hockey. All of Andrew's friends are away at games and Andrew doesn't have a car to drive to watch the games ― nor can he con his parents or siblings into letting him borrow one. There is Bollig now though, and Andrew figures he can probably talk his way into getting something out of him. He spends three hours in bed trying to get Bollig to ask him out again and then finally decides to call him when Bollig fails to take a hint.

“So do you want to do something today or not?” Andrew asks when Bollig answers on the third ring, as if he hadn't just replied to Andrew's texts three seconds earlier with some noncommittal bullshit.

“Like what?” Bollig replies calmly. He acts like he has no idea that he's driving Andrew fucking crazy, the complete bastard.

“I don't know. A movie or something, and there's a party later that we can crash.”

As much as Bollig pretends not to have any idea how much he pisses Andrew off, Andrew is pretty sure he's doing it all on purpose. It's pretty obvious in the way he hems and haws around actually agreeing until Andrew starts swearing at him for being the tool that he is.

“I'll be over in a while,” Bollig says, easy as anything before they hang up.

“Fine, bye,” Andrew snaps. He wishes phones still flipped shut so he could snap his closed angrily, or that they still had a receiver to slam them into. It's a bit anticlimactic to just tap 'end' and that's that.

It shouldn't get to him the way that it does to hear Bollig asking if there's even anything in theaters worth seeing and who exactly is going to be at the party they're going to after, but he can't help it. He is sure that Bollig is riling him up on purpose and the angrier Andrew gets, the more bored Bollig sounds over the phone.

It pisses him off and turns him on at the same time, and the shower he takes before Bollig shows up is as much to jerk himself off ― frustratedly thinking about Bollig and what a fucker he is the entire time ― as it is about getting ready to go out.

Andrew is still fuming by the time Bollig shows up. At least he didn't decide to make Andrew wait forever. Maybe he's more eager to see Andrew than he let on.

“I'm going out,” Andrew says to his mom as he passes through the kitchen. “I might stay at a friend's tonight.”

“With who?” she asks, turning to face him, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.

“A friend. Bollig. You met him.”

“Is he―”

Andrew has no interest in answering whatever she plans to ask and he cuts her short. “He's here, mom, I've got to go.”

“Andrew,” she starts.

“Love you, bye,” he calls, rushing toward the door.

“Stay out of trouble!” he hears her shout just before the front door slams closed behind him.

It's lucky his dad isn't home, or he probably wouldn't have gotten away so easy. His dad tends to expect actual answers to his questions. If they knew he is potentially spending the night with a guy he's sort of dating, he probably wouldn't be going at all. Truthfully, he's pretty sure his mom has some idea about it though, considering Bollig walks with him out of detention every day.

Given that, he's a little less careful than he should be when he gets into the car with Bollig. Just seeing Bollig's face stirs that mixed up, totally screwed feeling in his stomach that makes it hard not to punch Bollig at the first chance.

Andrew leans over the center console and Bollig arches an eyebrow at him but doesn't look like he's about to push Andrew away or anything. So that's good. Andrew grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him the rest of the way forward, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that's more painful than anything else. Bollig hisses a little and tries to jerk away but he doesn't get far with Andrew's hand clutching at his shirt.

_Good_ , Andrew thinks, glaring at Bollig from close range. He deserves for it to hurt after sounding so bored about making plans with Andrew for the night.

He doesn't have to wait long for Bollig to kiss him back, and it's just as hard and fast as Andrew's kiss, though it doesn't hurt so much considering they're both expecting the amount of force behind it. It's over too quick, though Andrew is still left a little short of breath, leaning into it too hard even when Bollig makes it soft and slow before he pulls away.

There's a stupid grin on Bollig's face after he rubs his lips together and leans back into the driver's side of the car. Andrew stays right where he is, one elbow rested on the center console. “You ready to go?” Bollig asks. He flicks Andrew in the nose, which makes him lean away into his own seat and out of Bollig's space.

Andrew glares. “Dumb fuck,” Andrew mutters, rubbing his nose. It seems to please Bollig a great deal considering his stupid smile grows even huger. “Yeah, I'm ready.”

The theater is busier than Andrew was expecting, but it's Saturday and tons of the people waiting in line are holding hands or have their arms linked. It stings just a little bit to stand there and not be sure if Bollig is that okay with being out or even that into him, to be that obvious in public. He doesn't say anything though because ultimately that's Bollig's choice and Andrew is cool with it.

Someone brushes past them in line and jostles Bollig over into Andrew, and he's pleasantly surprised when Bollig doesn't shuffle away again once the space clears up. He stays pressed against Andrew's side and settles his arm around Andrew's waist. It's nice and Andrew leans in closer to him, mouthing off to him about how slow the fucking line is moving and how half of the people waiting are probably there to see some shitty franchise blockbuster, and chirping the dudes a dozen people ahead who all have some horribly sick looking flow going on.

It's so easy to just slide into conversation with him; he always seems to be listening, even when Andrew has absolutely nothing of importance to say. More than anything, he seems to love it when Andrew gets pissy and rags on about the stupidest shit. It almost doesn't make sense, but really, Bollig has shown again and again just how much he loves to rile Andrew up. It reminds Andrew of when he overheard Bollig saying how cute he was when he's angry.

The saltier side of Andrew's personality has always been the one to cause issues. No one's ever liked that about him before ― how worked up he gets, how downright mean he sometimes is, the bitchy, sarcastic, snarky side that tends to rear its head more often than not. If Bollig is always getting him riled up on purpose, Andrew is going to end up with a whole lot of tension spilling over that he's not sure Bollig is ready for.

It turns out that all of the movies currently playing are pretty much shit. Bollig tries to talk him into the romantic comedy that all the couples seem to be heading in for but Andrew buys two tickets for the horror show instead. It's mostly just blood and guts and gore, and if there's an actual plot behind all that, Andrew hasn't been able to find it.

So it's not great, because it's definitely not the kind of movie you feel someone up to. But Andrew is standing by the fact that it was better than the romantic comedy by a landslide.

It's still way too early for the party to start, even if they stop for dinner first. Andrew drags Bollig into the bathroom with him. They get some serious side-eye from a few people and Bollig looks a little uncomfortable about the fact that Andrew literally pulls him into the stall with him, but if he really didn't want to come, he could have broken Andrew's hold easy enough. Andrew pushes him back against the cold tile wall and leans up to kiss him.

Bollig groans into the kiss ― not loud enough to be heard outside of the stall but the sound makes Andrew press into the kiss harder, just in case. As if it isn't already obvious what two guys are doing in a bathroom stall together to begin with.

“Seriously?” Bollig asks in a whisper, pushing Andrew back a few inches to break the kiss.

Andrew shrugs. “We have time to kill.”

“Until what?” Bollig questions suspiciously.

“The next movie,” Andrew answers.

Snorting, Bollig shakes his head. “I'm pretty sure what we're doing right now is illegal, and sneaking into second showings without paying is absolutely punishable by law.”

“I won't tell if you won't,” Andrew says, looking up at Bollig through his eyelashes. It's hard to tell if it gets the desired effect or not considering Bollig just keeps laughing and shaking his head at him.

“Yeah, all right,” he mutters, reeling Andrew in again to kiss him some more. “I won't tell.”

Andrew's mouth is sore by the time they're done and he's sure he has some sort of beard burn since Bollig didn't shave again and it was rubbing against Andrew's face, which stubbornly refuses to grow any semblance of hair. His dick is aching in his jeans but every time he tried to rock up against Bollig's thigh he would slow them down until they were mostly just breathing into each other’s mouths. He knows Bollig is hard too, but it's not the best place for them to do anything about it, even if Bollig would have let them.

If he's honest, he was expecting security to barge in and kick them out before they actually got around to sneaking out of the bathroom to begin with. But it seems as though no one ratted them out for doing inappropriate things in the public restroom. Considering how luck is already in their favor, Andrew just takes hold of Bollig's hand again and leads him out, down the stretch of hallway that goes toward the side exits and ducks into one of the theater rooms when no one is looking.

Of course since they got away with all that, it's just Andrew's luck that it ends up being a showing of that fucking romantic comedy. Andrew spends the whole two hours fighting back every laugh that threatens when it turns out to actually be pretty funny, and ignores the smug looks Bollig throws his way. All said and done, it's not a total waste.

“So, who is going to be at this party anyway?” Bollig asks him over their dinner.

They're actually in a sit-down restaurant for once. It's nothing fancy, but it beats Pizza Hut.

Andrew shrugs and takes a bite of his burger, talking with his mouth full. “Don't know. Probably lots of people. The hockey team. It's at Kruger's place, if you know him.”

Bollig shakes his head. “Not really. You know the hockey team?”

Andrew gives him a blank look, which he hopes conveys _fucking duh_ at Bollig loud and clear. “Considering I was on it, yeah, pretty much.”

“I didn't know that,” Bollig replies. He stuffs his mouth with the pasta he ordered and stares at Andrew contemplatively. He's not as rude as Andrew is and waits to finish chewing before he speaks again. “You don't play anymore.”

It's not exactly a question but Andrew confirms Bollig's suspicion with a stiff nod anyway.

“Can I ask why?” Bollig follows up with.

“I mean, yeah, you can ask, but it's hard to say whether you're gonna get an answer out of me or not,” Andrew says, laughing when Bollig kicks him under the table and frowns at his lame joke. “I can't. I got kicked off the team.”

“You can still play though, right? You didn't get hurt or anything?”

Andrew shrugs again and tries to avoid answering by shoving the last huge bite of his burger into his mouth. But Bollig just waits patiently for him to chew and swallow, and then chug half of his drink and eat a couple of fries. Sighing, Andrew nods. “I didn't get hurt. There are ways for me to get back on the team. Just, it's pretty unlikely.”

“But you want to?”

It makes Andrew's teeth grind together, how Bollig is pushing on this. Andrew really doesn't like talking about it in the first place. Admitting to Bollig that he's too dumb to make the hockey team sucks; he'd rather endure one of Tazer's hour long 'be better' lectures than this.

“I don't know, maybe,” Andrew says, evasive and noncommittal. Of course he _wants_ to, but it's so much more complicated than that. He doesn't feel like trying to explain it all to Bollig ― he doesn't even want to start that conversation. Bollig, thankfully, lets it drop without asking any other questions.

Two movies and a drawn out dinner was more than enough to set them back, and they are far from being the first ones at Kruger's place. There are cars blocking each other in the driveway and along the side of the road but Andrew directs Bollig around the block to the back alley. They pick their way carefully through backyards up to Kruger's house, Andrew explaining all the way that if the party gets busted, they are way more likely to get away unscathed parked back there.

Andrew barely makes it two steps into the house before Hayesy and Bicks each grab one of his arms and tow him off, shouting his arrival to the whole fucking world. He loses sight of Bollig immediately and his protests land on deaf ears. Trying to get away is just as ineffective considering they each have about six inches on him in height alone, not to mention weight.

Everyone's spirits are high, which means they've managed a solid win, and the mood is infectious. Bollig is forgotten momentarily as Andrew is passed around the group, pushed from friend to former teammate, saying hi to everyone he knows. He's been forced into doing a keg stand by the time he sees Bollig again, standing off to the edge of the crowded backyard with Saader.

“Hey,” Andrew calls, pushing through a group of guys that all thump him on the back as he makes his way through. “There you are.”

Bollig takes just one look at him before snorting. “Yeah, it looks like you've been trying real hard to find me.”

It's true, Andrew is obviously a little worse for wear already, his shirt beer-soaked in patches across his chest and a sore spot on his neck where he's sure a bruise is forming thanks to Bickell basically dropping him on his head. But Bollig is relaxed, leaned back against the fence bordering the property line with Saad, a beer in his hand, so Andrew isn't too concerned about him being a salty little bitch.

“Whatever,” he says easily, then nods in Saader direction. “You're monopolizing my date now, eh? What the hell's up with that?”

Saad crooks up a corner of his mouth in reply and asks, “Date?”

Which means that Bollig didn't say anything to him, and that's more surprising than anything. “Uh,” Andrew draws out, looking at Bollig in confusion. Maybe he isn't supposed to say anything; maybe Bollig wants to keep it quiet and just between them? They haven't exactly talked about it, though Andrew had gleaned from their talk on the mini golf course that Bollig was at least moderately out, if not completely.

Both Bollig and Saader are staring at him, and Andrew swears that Bollig looks as expectant as Saad does, waiting for his answer. Which seems strange. Because if Bollig was worried about being outed or concerned about anyone knowing he's dating Andrew then he probably would have said something contradictory already to stem off Saader's suspicions. Or that's what Andrew's buzz is telling him anyway.

“Boyfriend?” Andrew supplies, uncertain. His voice going high on the end of the word in an embarrassing way that he tries to play off as needing to burp but it doesn't seem to work as they both continue to stare at him like he's the funniest looking thing they've ever seen.

“Boyfriend,” Saader repeats, slightly less questioning than Andrew.

They both finally look away from Andrew, Saader first to glance at Bollig, who just shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “We've been on a couple of dates.”

“Got to first base,” Andrew supplies helpfully.

Saader doesn't only look incredulous at that, he sounds it too when he repeats, “First base?”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but doesn't point out the fact that if it were up to him they definitely would have gone further. Bollig's the one that's being a horrible cocktease.

“So you're boyfriends.”

“What, are you jealous?” Andrew asks, even though he pretty much pressured Saader into giving them a label in the first place, since Bollig was being unhelpful.

“Not so much,” Saader answers, completely condescending as he pats Andrew on the head and wishes them good luck before he slips away to do his own thing.

“We never really finished talking about it,” Andrew says the moment Saader is gone. He closes the gap between him and Bollig a little, shifting restlessly from his toes to his heels, rocking forward until he's almost touching Bollig and then back again.

“Most people won't assume I'm your date tonight?”

“Kaner will,” Andrew replies honestly. “And Leddy knows, but otherwise, no, probably not. I mean, I haven't really dated in the past, so no one's ever...” he trails off. “I'm good with it if you are,” he adds once it's clear Bollig still isn't going to say anything.

“Yeah, if you want people to know, I'm good too,” Bollig finally admits.

Andrew doesn't expect it to make him beam the way it does, but nevertheless, just those few words reaffirming that Bollig is in fact totally into him makes him giddy.

Everything gets a bit blurry once someone breaks out the jello shots. There's some dancing, he knows, can remember kissing Bollig and hearing catcalls from all the douches that were apparently watching them. But there's a big blank space where he knows something must have happened that he doesn't remember because he wakes up in a room he's never seen before in a bed that isn't his. Bollig is next to him, at least, though they're both still fully dressed, which is probably not a good sign but at least Andrew didn't blackout getting fucked.

It must be Bollig's bedroom, he realizes once he notices the ugly Cardinals snapback sitting on top of a dresser. And there's a sweatshirt that Andrew recognizes as Bollig's on the floor a few feet from the bed.

His head is pounding and he feels like he's about to throw up, but he has no idea where the bathroom is and Bollig is still asleep beside him, so he just tries desperately not to move and hopes that it goes away. It really doesn't, but he refuses to move anyway. It just seems like the best course of action to lay there and wait it out until eventually he feels better.

It's an hour later that Bollig finally stirs awake. Andrew hasn't been able to fall back to sleep, lying there miserable and prostrate all the while.

“If you're gonna puke, don't do it on the bed, please,” Bollig says, his voice rough and sleep-heavy, slow.

Andrew groans, and hopes the sound communicates just how disgusting he feels. He tries to look at Bollig without actually moving his head but it hurts to make his eyeballs strain that far. Everything hurts.

“Seriously, the bathroom is straight across the hall. I won't forgive you if my room stinks like puke for the next year.”

Just the mention of puke-smell makes Andrew gag. Fucking Bollig. It'll be his own fault if Andrew vomits all over him.

It's no easy feat to move from the bed but Andrew manages it, somehow, without blowing chunks. The bathroom is significantly less cluttered and messy than Andrew is used to, probably because Bollig doesn't have to share his with two brothers. A shower sounds too good to pass up, even if he doesn't have anything but clothes that reeks like beer. He uses Bollig's toothbrush.

He feels slightly better after that, cleaner and no longer stinking of a party. He doesn't even bother with his shirt or jeans, and glances both ways down the hall before dashing across to Bollig's room again in just his underwear.

Bollig looks up from his phone when Andrew comes in, eyes following him as comes closer to the bed, dropping the wet towel and his clothes in a pile on Bollig's floor.

“I used your toothbrush,” Andrew says as he crawls back into bed, Bollig still watching his every movement.

“That's disgusting,” he replies. “Did you throw it away?”

“No. I didn't even throw up. It's fine, you'll live.”

Bollig grunts his disagreement but doesn't actually give Andrew the hell he was expecting. He seems distracted, and Andrew is nothing if not shameless as he makes a show of stretching out across Bollig's bed. Even though it hurts, it's worth it to see Bollig's mouth drop open a little, his eyes going dark as he stares at Andrew.

Andrew watches him lick his lips and then shuts his eyes as Bollig moves closer. He sticks his hand out to stop Bollig before he actually gets close enough to kiss though.

“If you don't want puke in your bed then go brush your teeth,” he says, and Bollig breathes right into his face in return which is even fucking grosser than Andrew imagined it would be.

When the bed shifts, Andrew opens his eyes again, but Bollig is crawling over him obediently, not trying to kiss him. He pauses as he's directly over the top of Andrew, grinning down at him, and Andrew says, “Don't you fucking dare,” and shoves at Bollig's huge chests before he can get any ideas.

He thinks he's funny though and laughs about it as he presses into Andrew's restraining hands and doesn't give up until Andrew threatens to puke on him again. He's gone long enough that Andrew knows he's showering too, and he dozes off while he waits, only opening his eyes when he hears the door.

Quietly, he watches Bollig dress. He puts shorts on under his towel, which Andrew begrudges, and then he pulls a shirt on too, hiding the rippling goodness that Andrew wants to put his hands all over. It's a disappointing amount less than Andrew was hoping for.

Bollig is significantly less hung over than Andrew is, and he's an asshole about it when he crawls back into the bed, shaking it a sickening amount with every movement and laughing when Andrew makes noises like a dying animal.

“Why are you so mean to me?” he laments. He grips the fabric of Bollig's shirt in his fists and tries to pull him closer when he lays too far away but Bollig refuses to be moved and Andrew ends up pulling himself across the bed. “First you put all that clothes on and then you start rocking the boat. Why don't you just punch me in the face instead?”

“S'not my fault you're so hung over.”

“It's not mine either,” Andrew whines.

“I will happily punch you in the face if you really think that will help.”

“Asshole.” Andrew groans, leaning his head against Bollig's chest. It's easy enough to fall asleep again, Bollig's arm wrapped around his shoulder.

Unfortunately, he doesn't feel much better the next time he wakes up. At least he's clean though, and his mouth doesn't taste quite as bad, and his head is maybe not throbbing as much, and his stomach isn't threatening to empty itself at any moment. It's still bad, and Bollig isn't there which makes it even worse.

There's no one in the hall when Andrew sneaks from the bedroom to the bathroom, and Bollig still hasn't returned by the time Andrew goes back across again. He picks up Bollig's sweatshirt off the floor and puts that on, checking his phone ― which was thankfully in his jeans' pocket along with his wallet ― while he waits.

Andrew feels much less disappointed about Bollig's absence when he comes back bearing food. Eggs and toast piled high on a plate that he drops into Andrew's lap.

There are two forks on the plate and Andrew scoffs at that. “You bitch about how disgusting it is that I use your toothbrush but you want to share food with me? Hypocrite.”

“I already had to wash the pan myself, I didn't feel like washing an extra plate. And just so we're clear, I don't have to share anything with you, including this bed or that sweatshirt or my food.”

Which is a point well made and Andrew surprisingly does know when it's best to keep his mouth shut. “I meant thank you, honey, you're the absolute greatest ever.”

“Uh huh,” Bollig says, dropping onto the bed to sit leaned against Andrew's side. They share the food between them, shoulders pressed together and plate balanced where their thighs meet.

Andrew leans back against the pillows when Bollig takes the plate to wash it. Bollig didn't tell him he had to leave any time soon so his plans are just to get comfortable until that happens. He should probably text his mom, she's likely worried. He leans down to pick up his phone from where he'd dropped it over the edge of the bed and notices a packet of papers sticking out from underneath Bollig's backpack.

Curious, he grabs them and pulls it into his lap. He recognizes it as whatever Bollig had been working on in his room when they'd been doing homework, though Andrew hadn't paid attention to what it was at the time.

_Alice_ , it reads on the front cover. Andrew flips it open and inside the first page is a handwritten note.

_Brandon, I couldn't imagine a better Mad Hatter. Keep up the good work, and remember, there is such thing as over-acting._

It's signed _Mrs. C._

“You're into theater?” Andrew demands the second Bollig walks through the door.

Bollig stops up momentarily but doesn't look embarrassed or anything about the fact that Andrew knows and is flipping through his script, reading all the little notations he's made on the pages with his lines.

“How didn't I know that?” Andrew wonders aloud. He's kind of blown away by the revelation.

“Maybe because you never bothered to ask,” Bollig says, plucking the script from between Andrew's fingers and setting it down across the room on his dresser.

“I'm asking now. Are you in the drama club? Oh my god, do you call yourself a thespian?”

“I never should have fed you,” Bollig mutters as he gets back into bed with Andrew.

“When is your play? Can I come? Can I come to rehearsals? Do you have your costume― Mmph.”

Bollig's kiss cuts him off before he can finish. The hand he has placed on the back of Andrew's head keeps him from pulling back, and Bollig deepens the kiss when Andrew tries to end it. Groaning, Andrew goes with it as Bollig rolls them over, putting Bollig on top with a thigh pressed between Andrew's legs.

“Seriously?” Andrew asks the second Bollig backs off enough for him to duck his chin. He's sure his eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares up at Bollig. “You're not going to just cock tease me because you don't want to answer my questions, are you?”

Bollig shifts against him, and Andrew, for one blind moment of pure panic, thinks that he's going to stop and pull away, which leads to him clinging onto Bollig's biceps for dear life. But he doesn't, just situates himself more fully on top of Andrew and presses his thigh snugly against Andrew's balls and waits for Andrew's death grip to loosen.

“We've got an hour until I have to kick you out so it's your call.”

“That doesn't even answer my question!” Andrew exclaims, flailing beneath Bollig enough that he gets annoyed and uses one of his arms to pin both of Andrew's wrists to the bed above his head.

“Yes, it does.”

“It really doesn't,” Andrew says, squirming against both Bollig's hold on his wrist and the thigh shoved between his legs. He's getting hard embarrassingly fast and it's kind of humiliating that one of Bollig's arms can hold both of his down no matter what he does. “Bollig,” Andrew complains.

“Say my name,” Bollig demands back at him, unmoved by Andrew's repeated attempts to either get Bollig away from him or closer to him ― he's not really sure which he wants more at this point.

Andrew glares, because fucking really? ' _Say my name_?' Andrew's fucked around with some dudes that were admittedly pretty lame and yet not one of them ever trudged into the mortifying territory of dirty talk where that shit is acceptable.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Andrew says, flat and unamused.

“No,” Bollig replies simply. He fixes Andrew with a stare that looks determined and pushes his wrists even harder to the bed. When Andrew refuses to be swayed, the thigh between Andrew's leg presses up harder ― firmly enough that it makes Andrew's breath catch, the pressure riding on this side of pain against his highly interested cock.

The weight Bollig uses to hold him down eases up just the slightest bit, a relief, before Bollig presses in again, less intensely with a roll in his hips, grinding himself on Andrew's thigh.

“Oh,” Andrew gasps. His fingers curl in around Bollig's hand where he's holding them to the bed and he tilts his chin up, trying to find Bollig's mouth with no luck.

Again, Bollig leans into him too hard, pain making his thighs squeeze hard against the leg Bollig is using to crush his dick. Jesus Christ.

He doesn't think, just closes his eyes and whimpers, “ _Brandon._ ”

The word is met with instant relief, Bollig letting go of his wrists and distributing his weight more evenly.

“Fuck,” Andrew mutters. Bollig kisses him, tongue pushing past Andrew's lips and Andrew bites it. It's not like it does him any good because Bollig bites him right back, sharp teeth against Andrew's upper lip until his mouth is open wide with the pain and Bollig shoves his tongue right back in again.

Andrew's hands scrabble against Bollig's clothes, rucking his shirt up and scratching his nails roughly down Bollig's sides once it's out of the way.

“Fuck,” Andrew swears the moment his mouth is free, babbling. “Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck. Yes.”

The incoherent string is cut off when Bollig covers Andrew's lips with his own again, groaning into Andrew's mouth. Andrew catches the band of Bollig's underwear and pushes them down his thighs, feeling blindly over the smooth curve of Bollig's ass, down his thighs, and around between his legs, to his cock, which is hard, blood-hot, and big in Andrew's hands.

Bollig doesn't get that far, just yanks Andrew's underwear low enough to get his dick free, the band cutting a line beneath his balls, tight. It doesn't matter though; Andrew can barely feel it with Bollig's rough, too dry palm on his cock. Bollig jerks him off tight and quick, thumb pressing right up under the head like he's not fucking around, like he wants Andrew to blow his load in five seconds flat.

It makes his knees jerk, hips shifting against the bed ― too fast, too intense, too much, but too good to stop. He can feel pre-come slicking the way, getting wet, and it makes it a little less of a rough ride. Andrew tries to keep focus enough to rub one out of Bollig at the same pace, but at the rate they're going, he doesn't have much hope of succeeding.

Body curling in on himself, Andrew knocks his head against Bollig's shoulder and grunts, swearing. He turns his face into Bollig's neck and sucks high on the underside of his jaw, hoping to distract himself, or Bollig. He knows he's leaving a mark; he _likes_ that he's leaving a mark and drags his mouth lower, to a spot that's even more visible on Bollig's neck, licking away the salty sweat on Bollig's skin, nipping at him, and sucking hard enough to feel the heat of a forming bruise. Bollig never stops him, just lets him keep going until his neck is covered in hickeys that everyone will see.

_Mine_ , Andrew thinks, a little vicious as he sinks his teeth into the meat of Bollig's shoulder just too high for a shirt to cover. Bollig works him through it when he shoots his load all over himself.

Andrew bows his head just as soon as his thighs stop quivering and he can think clearly enough. His dick is spent, though Bollig keeps his hand curled around it, but it doesn't distract Andrew from what he's doing here. Bollig looks thick between his fingers ― he _is_ thick, and it makes Andrew's mouth water, his ass clench up tight at the thought of getting him inside.

He glances up at Bollig momentarily, finds him looking at the same place that Andrew is, where Andrew's got his dick in his hand. “Want to suck you off,” he says. “Want you to fuck me,” and that makes Bollig's eyes slip shut. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and that quiets the groan that works its way up, but Andrew still hears it. “Want your big dick inside of me.”

It's bordering on too lame, and Andrew would be embarrassed about saying it, except that's what it takes to send Bollig over the edge ― so if anyone's going to be embarrassed here, it's gonna be Bollig, for coming over such a shit line.

He adds to the mess on Andrew, streaking up Bollig's already come soaked sweatshirt. Andrew is really glad it's not his hoodie, because fuck if he wants to be the one to wash it. He says as much once Bollig collapses just to the side of him, one leg still thrown over Andrew's and an arm snugging Andrew right up against him.

“Gonna pop wood every time I see this fucking thing now,” Bollig says to that, fingering the material.

“Good,” Andrew replies, turning his head to look at Bollig. And he sees Bollig's neck and has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“What?” Bollig asks, clearly seeing the amusement Andrew is trying to restrain.

He looks like hell, marked up even worse than Andrew thought he would be. “Nothing,” Andrew lies, palming Bollig's cheek and leaning in to kiss him. Shit, he's so dead.

“We should get cleaned up. I have to take you home.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agrees. He wriggles out of Bollig's sweatshirt and laughs outright at Bollig when he tries to figure out what the hell to do with it. Andrew pulls on his clothes in record time and rushes Bollig out the door. The longer he can keep Bollig away from a mirror the better. Revenge is going to be a bitch, he can feel it already.

―

 

―

The backlash Andrew was expecting doesn't come. He sees Bollig in the halls first thing in the morning, walking with one of his buddies that Andrew doesn't know, and Andrew gapes at him, tensed for some kind of consequence for his actions against Bollig's neck. But when Bollig crosses the hall to Andrew, he doesn't even break his conversation with his friends, just casually reaches out to pinch Andrew's side and then keeps walking.

It's... it's anticlimactic, to say the least. It's not at all what Andrew was expecting. Especially the fact that Bollig is dressed in a v-neck tee that has absolutely no chance of even beginning to hide the way Andrew marked him up from jawline to collarbones. It's all on display and Bollig apparently has no shame about it.

It's Andrew's friends that get on him about it. There's nothing surprising about that, but he expected a whole hell of a lot worse to come from Bollig than anyone else.

Leddy gets to him first, but by lunch, he's heard it from everybody and their brother. Kaner's the worst by far because he won't drop the Twilight references and keeps asking Andrew if he has some fucked up Edward Cullen fantasies or what. Saader just asks him if he pissed on Bollig while he was at it. Tazer even joins in and thinks he's being funny when he dead-eyes in Andrew's direction and tells him that next time he should get Bollig to wear one of his old jerseys or something. Nobody laughs but Kaner, shockingly ― and Andrew gets him back for it later when he chirps Kaner about wishing Jonny would force one of his jerseys on Kaner; Kaner goes red at that and mumbles something about forcing things on Shawzy's mom, and his poor attempt at joking it off falls spectacularly flat.

Andrew considers the possibility of Bollig biding his time, waiting until Andrew thinks he's in the clear to strike. It's what Andrew would do, if he had any patience or hold on his temper at all ― which he doesn't so he'd probably just punch Bollig in the face the first time he saw him, were their roles reversed here. Bollig does have the patience though, and seems much better at keeping his temper at bay. So Andrew waits. And Bollig sits next to him in detention, and whispers, “Hey babe, can I see you later?”

The fact that he's suspicious of Bollig's motives has to be clear. He agrees, and then spends the entirety of their detention time side-eyeing Bollig, who just pokes at him occasionally and smiles all perfectly at ease.

He texts his mom that he's got a ride home, and Bollig drives him, singing along with the radio in the most obnoxious dorky fashion that does nothing to make Andrew trust that he's not about to be murdered.

No one is home when they get there, and for once, Andrew is not pleased about that. Most days, he would give anything for an empty house and a boy at the ready to do things with, but of all the times for it to actually happen, this is the worst one.

“My parents will be home any minute,” Andrew mutters the moment they step into his bedroom. It's true, really. His mom probably just stopped for groceries or something on her way home from work since she didn't have to get Andrew, and his dad almost certainly would be on his way soon.

“Okay,” Bollig answers simply, spreading out the books he brought with him on the floor and leaning up against Andrew's bed to study.

Andrew is tense and anxious as he sits down beside him, keeping enough space to hopefully be able to react if Bollig decides to attack. His knee jitters nervously, and he doesn't realize until Bollig flicks him that he's tapping his pencil on the open page. He stares blindly down at the book, off center and unfocused; he hasn't read a word.

He quits the tapping for as long as he can manage, but it's an unconscious thing he does without realizing, and it still gets on Bollig's nerves more than anything. Half expecting an elbow to face or something, Andrew flinches when Bollig comes after him.

It's not rough. He moves fast and he moves hard, but he doesn't hurt Andrew, doesn't even try to, just knocks him easily onto his back and holds him there to kiss him.

“I know you're waiting for me to get you for marking me up,” Bollig says between kisses. He pauses to press another quick one to Andrew's lips, and then continues, “But you don't have to. To be honest, I kind of like it. So you should stop worrying.”

He lets Andrew back up after that and one more kiss, and gets back to his books. It sounds too good to be true but Andrew tries to do as Bollig said and stop waiting and worrying. He fails, mostly, because he gets stuck staring at Bollig's neck and thinking about the words ' _I kind of like it_ ' and that just leaves him even less focused than before.

Bollig gets after him pretty quickly, though it's not with kisses this time. His fingers dig into Andrew's thighs sharply, pinning his leg to the floor and keeping it from shaking away with his nervous energy.

“Shawzy.” Bollig speaks clearly, right up in Andrew's face. “Quit fucking around and get some work done or I will have to mess you up, got it?” His hand is huge on Andrew's face as he grips Andrew's jaw to pull him in for a kiss that's more mean than anything else. It hurts, and Andrew breathes out a whimper just before Bollig eases up and pushes him back. “Do your homework.”

His pulse is thrumming through his veins as he picks up his books again. His jaw feels sore where Bollig's fingertips cut into him and his leg is like deadweight, unmoving after Bollig dug bruises into his skin to keep him still.

It's how his mother finds them, Andrew halfway through a worksheet that doesn't seem as terrible as usual and Bollig silent beside him, probably reading over lines or flying through the homework he seems to never have a problem with. Thankfully Bollig's back is mostly to the door and she can't see the hickeys all over his neck. She leaves them alone.

It takes about a half hour for Andrew to finish up the stuff that's due the next day. He gets antsy again after that, and Bollig lets him be as he shuffles through his papers noisily to try to find something else to do. His focus is shot already though, and he starts rooting around his desk, plugging in his laptop and firing it up. Bollig gets the point soon enough and abandons his own work and watches some stupid YouTube videos with him for a while.

“Do you have a sweatshirt or something I can throw on?” he asks before he goes, gesturing at his neck, as if Andrew might have forgotten what it looks like.

It's hard to find something big enough for Bollig in Andrew's closet, but there's a hoodie in there that is stretched out and worn thin from too many washings and he shoves that into Bollig's hands.

“Cool,” Bollig says as he pulls it on. It's still too small, stretched tight over his shoulders and chest. Bollig's smirking as he steps up against Andrew, grabbing a hold of his shirt and keeping him tight to his body as he walks him back to the wall where he pins him in place. “I'll go home and jerk off on it.” He keeps his voice low, that sinful smirk still curling his lips. “Ruin it the way you ruined mine.”

The door's wide open and his mom is just downstairs and he knows Bollig is leaving, but that doesn't stop him from throwing himself into the kiss, groaning and trying to get his hands on Bollig's ass.

“Gonna come all over it,” Bollig says, his hand planted on Andrew's chest to keep him in place as he steps away.

“Fuck you so much right now,” Andrew grumbles, glaring at Bollig but letting him walk away.

Bollig's grin is dirty and mean and it looks so good on him that it makes Andrew hurt. “See you tomorrow,” he says, blowing Andrew a kiss as he backs out of the room.

―

 

  
2

―

The contents of Andrew's locker are all dumped out onto the floor, spread out across the hallway, and people are stepping on his things, trying to get to their own lockers, but he still can't find the notes he's looking for.

Bollig finds him like that ― after classes have let out and the halls are clearing ― on his knees, pushing books and notebooks around, searching for what he needs.

“You okay?” Bollig asks when he approaches, leaning up against the row of lockers and staring down at Andrew judgmentally. He's clearly being judgmental, Andrew can see it in his eyebrows. Andrew probably looks a little frazzled, on the floor, shoving shit around and cursing to himself because he just fucking had those notes two hours ago, it's not like they could have sprung legs and walked away.

“Go away,” he grunts in Bollig's general direction. Which is maybe not the smartest idea, because the longer Andrew takes to find those notes, the more likely he is to miss the bus, and it's his first evening in forever without a detention, so his mother is probably happy as hell to not have to come to the school late to pick him up. If he needs a ride, he's probably going to have to find his own way, which means Bollig, or possibly staying to watch hockey practice and forcing Leddy to give him a ride. Fuck Bollig. Andrew doesn't need him anyway, the unhelpful judger that he is.

“You're not interested in hanging out with me tonight then, I take it?” Bollig questions him, still just standing there, one of his giant feet on Andrew's half-finished history assignment. Andrew punches him in the leg until he finally picks it up and Andrew can safely transfer the paper to the pile of crap he's already gone through twelve times with no success.

“No. Go away,” Andrew repeats. He's got shit to do. If Bollig isn't going to help, why is he even still standing there?

“Tell me what you're looking for, at least.”

Andrew glares up at him and shoves the pile of books and papers over again, shuffling through them. There's still nothing there, even when he shakes his books out, all he finds is a crude sketch of himself giving Kaner a blowjob that Kaner drew with the words 'you suck!' etched along the bottom, underlined like ten times. Andrew has no recollection of ever seeing it, and he hands it up to Bollig before rattling off an explanation.

“Notes. I need my notes. I have a fucking test and I forgot all about it and it's tomorrow and I haven't even started studying and I can't find my notes and I'm gonna fucking fail and get held back and I'll never get to play hockey again and everyone's going to go off to college and be awesome and get drafted to the NHL and I'll be here, still looking for my fucking notes.”

“Hey,” Bollig says, kind of loud and insistent, but Andrew's on a mission. They were right fucking there during lunch, he had them, where could they have gone? “Hey,” Bollig repeats, firmly, and when Andrew goes on ignoring him, he reaches down and grabs Andrew by the collar of his shirt and hauls him up.

Andrew scrambles, first to his feet, and then to get away, shoving at Bollig, but unable to break his hold. “Hey,” Bollig says again. It's like he's trying to get Andrew's attention or something, but he's already got it.

“What?” Andrew snaps. He tries to jerk back, to break free, but his shirt just cuts into him, threatening to tear where Bollig has it clamped in his fist. And when he can't get away, he reacts blindly, hands clenching up and swinging without thought. The first hit lands on Bollig's midsection, the soft part of his belly because he wasn't tensed for it, wasn't ready, and he doubles over with it, making Andrew's next punch hit him more in the shoulder than anything. It hurts Andrew's hand, hitting solidness and bone and nothing at all soft.

Bollig takes the first two hits, but he doesn't let Andrew get in a third. He's got enough size on Andrew to make it laughable when he puts his mind to it. If Andrew can catch him off guard, he's got an advantage, but otherwise, Bollig overpowers him far too easily. He hits the lockers with a clatter. Bollig isn't nice about spinning them around and pinning Andrew there, one of the metal handles digging sharply into Andrew's back.

“Are you fucking finished?” Bollig demands, angry and right up in Andrew's face. He has one hand on Andrew's shoulder and one on his side, pushing hard enough to bruise at both places, making it impossible for Andrew to move without making shit worse on himself.

He tries once to push forward, to fight back, but he's caught, he lost. Just like that, the desire to fight drains out of him. He stops glaring at Bollig and looks down at his shoes instead, panting. It hurts, badly, to be pinned in place the way he is, and he wonders what the fuck he was thinking, picking a fight with Bollig, for absolutely no reason.

“You done?” Bollig questions him again when there's no answer.

“Shit,” Andrew swears. “Shit, fuck. Yes. Yeah, fuck. I'm done.”

“All right,” Bollig agrees, releasing him slowly.

Andrew shrugs, trying to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. He aches and stings in the places that are going to go black and blue, where Bollig used his hands and the unforgiving metal of the lockers to leech the fight out of him.

“Now, how about you try again to tell me what you're looking for?”

Andrew explains the situation, calmly; he tells Bollig about the notes, about his test tomorrow, about needing to study, a lot.

“Okay. Let's look one more time, and if we don't find them, we'll have to think of something else.”

“They're already borrowed notes,” Andrew grumbles in reply. “If I can't find them, I'm fucked.” He keeps muttering, mostly to himself, though loud enough for Bollig to hear, about just how fucked he is, as he sorts through his shit. Eventually he reaches back to start handing shit to Bollig for him to put away, because that sounds like the best course of action.

But he's left hanging, arm outstretched backward, trying to hand off his books to go back into his locker and Bollig doesn't seem to get it.

“Hello,” he calls, shaking the books at him as he glances back to see what the hell Bollig's problem is, and he's staring at Andrew's ass. Which is so helpful, really, jesus. “Ugh,” Andrew groans.

“All right.” Bollig laughs, grabbing the books before Andrew can throw them at him. “Did you check your pockets?”

“The notes are not in my fucking pocket,” Andrew replies.

Bollig looks sceptical, but Andrew just glares at him and shoves more books in his direction until he shuts up with his stupid judging face.

In the end, there's still no notes, just a book that Bollig keeps back because he says it's way overdue to be returned to the library ― and Andrew doesn't even remember why he checked it out, which is probably not a good sign considering it was probably for an assignment and he obviously never did it.

“Great,” Andrew sighs. So he's fucked. He's ready to give up, just say fuck it and ask Bollig for a ride home, when Bollig shoves him forward unexpectedly. Andrew nearly eats the lockers again, this time with his face, but he extends his arms out just in time, catching himself before he goes into them face first. “What the fuck?” he shouts.

If Bollig wasn't asking for a fight before, he is now, and Andrew is more than obliged to give it to him. So what if he loses again? Losing a fight will leave him stinging in a worse way than losing the fucking notes he needed for a test. He's all for it.

Bollig gets his hands on Andrew right away, around Andrew's hips, hands groping at Andrew's front while he's pressed up all along his back.

“If you're not going to check your pockets, I will,” Bollig says, which makes Andrew roll his eyes but relax.

“Cell phone,” Andrew mutters as Bollig feels at the shape of it through the fabric of his jeans. He's gripping at Andrew's other front pocket, feeling for anything inside, but that one's empty. His hand moves in a little more, closer to Andrew's fly, and Andrew says, “That's my dick,” as Bollig's fingers graze over it.

Bollig snorts and grins against Andrew's ear and keeps his hand right where it is, pressed against Andrew's dick. They're in the middle of the goddamn hallway and anyone could step out of a classroom or turn the corner down the hall but Andrew just can't bring himself to give a shit. Bollig steps back a little to get his other hand on Andrew's ass, feeling him up more than he rightly needs to if he's really just supposed to be checking Andrew's pockets. Andrew feels like he's being frisked by a dirty cop and he can't help laughing a little, bracing his hands harder against the lockers and spreading his legs wider.

“Don't tempt me,” Bollig mutters.

“Yes, sir,” Andrew quips, as snotty as two words can be, and Bollig squeezes his dick through his jeans like that's really going to dissuade him from being mouthy while he gets felt up. “Wallet,” he says, when Bollig feels over the outline of that. He still slides it out and double checks though before he moves to the other back pocket. “Homework and a note from Leddy,” Andrew lists off when Bollig reaches in.

Bollig steps back and starts unfolding the papers and Andrew turns around and rolls his eyes, takes the pages as Bollig flips through them. There should only be three pieces, but after the homework and the note, there's a couple of pages stapled together and Andrew swears.

“Fucking seriously?” he asks hysterically, grabbing the papers out of Bollig's hands.

“Fucking seriously,” Bollig replies, giving Andrew a blank stare that would make a weaker man wilt.

“Jesus fucking fuck,” Andrew rants. “I would have went home and took my jeans off and left them on the floor until my mom did laundry, cleaned out my pockets, and threw this shit on my desk three weeks from now and failed the fucking test because of it. I swear I didn't put them in my pocket, this is fucking Leddy's fault.”

“Does Leddy put things in your pocket often?”

Andrew is almost distracted enough by the fact that Bollig is asking that question and expecting an answer to prove his point. “No, shut up. Seriously, he was making up some bullshit story about feeling up a girl that I'm nine hundred percent sure doesn't exist and I folded up my important shit with my unimportant shit and it's his fault.”

“Mhmm,” Bollig hums, and Andrew is too busy raging about how everyone he knows is a huge douchebag to realize that where Bollig is leading him to is the library and not his car.

“Wait, what?” he asks as they step into the room.

“You need to study. I can run lines. Mutually beneficial. We both know if I take you home you're not going to get any studying done.”

He has a point there, and Andrew really needs to do well on this test, which is the only reason he doesn't argue. They find a table in the back, where it's quiet. The whole place is quiet for the most part, but towards the front of the room there are some people working on the computers and the clacking of the keyboard is likely to drive Bollig insane if he sat close enough to hear it. The back tables are better anyway, more out of sight if Andrew needs some positive attention for his good behavior. He smirks as he takes a seat at the table.

“Hands to yourself,” Bollig says flatly, seeming to read Andrew's mind.

“Okay, Mister Just-Felt-Me-Up-In-The-Hallway,” Andrew replies.

It only takes about three minutes for Bollig to get fed up with Andrew's pencil tapping; he yanks the pencil right out of Andrew's hand. It's on the tabletop next to Bollig's open script, still close enough to reach if Andrew needs it, but he doesn't. All he needs to do is read the notes.

Unsurprisingly, it's more difficult than it should be. Andrew feels like he's reading over the same sentences twenty times and still not taking in what the words mean. They're good notes ― Kaner's, written in small, neat lettering, everything Andrew needs to know right in front of him. But it's frustrating, the words just won't sink in for Andrew the way that they do for other people, like Kaner, who can afford to give his perfect notes away the day before a test because he's confident that he knows everything he needs to. Andrew can't even seem to absorb what one sentence is saying, let alone the three pages that his grade depends on.

He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. It's made worse by the fact that Bollig is sitting right there while Andrew struggles to comprehend anything that he's reading. He feels so weak, so painfully stupid, like Bollig knows both of those things, and it's a hurt that Andrew isn't used to, bone deep and crushing, probably a bit like that punch to the stomach that Andrew gave to Bollig earlier when he wasn't ready for it. Everything just seems so much harder than it has to be.

He can feel his knee jerking beneath the table, uneasy, and he flips the page, leaning his head onto his hand to block Bollig's view. Maybe the next page is better; maybe something will make sense. But it's not like it's in any way shocking that it doesn't, that none of it really sinks in.

He's halfway through cracking all of his knuckles for the third time when Bollig digs his fingers into Andrew's shoulder, right where the metal handle on the locker had bruised him earlier and the pain is especially bright. Andrew hisses and goes still, staring blankly down at the notes. The words blur, and Bollig says nothing, gripping tighter until Andrew gasps with the pain of it and drops his arm down to grip the edge of the table.

Even after Bollig lets go of Andrew's shoulder, he isn't finished. His hand falls beneath the table and gets a hold of Andrew's thigh. Despite the fact that Andrew's knee isn't bouncing anymore, he still curls his fingers in and holds on tight enough to make Andrew's leg tingle, painful to the point that it's almost feeling numb.

“Okay,” Andrew says, short of breath.

Bollig lets up right away, no hesitation. Andrew has to blink a few times for everything to come back into focus, take a few breaths to ease the tightness in his chest, but then it's all gone, quiet. His mind isn't racing, isn't buzzing, and the throb of his shoulder and his leg with every heartbeat is an odd sort of comfort.

His arm is a deadweight against the desk and Bollig flips him back to the start of the notes and it's just the words in front of him and Bollig's hand holding his for a half hour of calm. Restlessness starts to set in, but it's Bollig who notices it first, and he crushes Andrew's fingers between his. That's all it takes.

―

The test is first thing in the morning, and even though Andrew goes in feeling ready, he comes out feeling defeated. Studying with Bollig for a solid hour felt like it should have been enough. Andrew even tried to cram some more that night before he went to bed. Pressing his fingers into the deep, purpling bruises brought the words into focus like nothing else. Still, Andrew can't shake the feeling that he just bombed the test.

It's a tension that lingers, an uneasy pit in his stomach that reminds him that he's so likely to be working for nothing. Stressing and cramming for another failing grade. He's already rattled when one of the footballers elbows him in the head on his way to his seat and Andrew trips him up and knocks his ass to the ground. The fight that ensues is frankly embarrassing. Andrew gets punched in the face, but he lands a few jabs of his own before half of the football team is on him.

He made it less than a week without detention. The principal goes easy on him, only giving him four days to serve before he sends Andrew back to class. His face is sore and Leddy is grimacing in sympathy every time he looks at Andrew's face, so maybe it's the shiner he's got going that swayed the principal in his favor for once.

By the way that Bollig strides across the cafeteria at lunch, face already murderous before he can even see Andrew clearly enough to know he has a black eye, he must have already heard. They're in the middle of the room, but Bollig grabs his face anyway, tilts his chin up to get a good look at him before he leans down to kiss him. People are staring but Bollig doesn't seem to give a shit, and Andrew sure as hell doesn't care.

“Don't fucking let him follow me,” Bollig says over Andrew's shoulder before he walks away, and Andrew tries to bolt to follow Bollig because fuck if he's going to just sit there after Bollig says something idiotic like _that_. But he made the mistake of sitting next to Hayesy, who basically has an arm the size of Andrew's entire body, which he uses to hold Andrew down.

The commotion that ensues sends Andrew's heart up into his throat. Hayesy lets him turn in his seat, but he doesn't get any further than that. All Andrew can see is that Bollig has the dickhead that punched Andrew in the face by the front of his shirt with his other arm pulled back, loaded and ready. Bollig is saying something, and whatever it is, it's pissing off the other guy enough that he starts swinging. Bollig takes a couple of punches that he doesn't seem to feel, though each one makes Andrew jerk under the weight of Hayesy's arm, makes him sick with the need to pound the piss out of the fucker for hitting Bollig. All it takes is one swing from Bollig, aimed right for his face, the same eye that is swelling up on Andrew, and he goes down like a ton of bricks.

Bollig leaves with security calmly, letting them lead him out. “I'm going to fucking kill you,” Andrew promises as they go past, seething. Bollig's eyes are on him the entire time, as if he wasn't sure Andrew would still be there.

“Love you too, babe,” Bollig says in reply, his grin a little wild around the edges.

The words don't really sink in for another hour, once Andrew has calmed down. It pisses him off even more when they do.

“Fuck you,” he whispers, moving to the front of the room after Bollig walks in for detention and tries to sit down in the seat next to him. Andrew is beyond pissed off.

Bollig still waits for him, though, Andrew's ride home. As soon as they're in the car, Andrew lets loose what he's been holding back for hours. “Don't you ever fucking do that again. I can fight my own fights, you stupid bastard.”

If Bollig has anything to say to him, he keeps it to himself. Calmly, he starts up the car and drives Andrew home in complete silence. Andrew has his seat belt unbuckled and his shit all ready to go before they even pull into the driveway, prepared to get out and slam the door in Bollig's face the second he comes to a stop. Bollig is anticipating him, and grabs Andrew's arm before he can get out, throwing the car into the park and pulling Andrew closer to him at the same time.

Andrew is expecting one of those mean, painful kisses. He's expecting Bollig to meet his anger head on and bite at his mouth. Andrew expects it to hurt. But it's the opposite of that. It's soft and gentle and Bollig has the back of Andrew's head cradled in his hand, stroking into his hair. The kiss is filled with something that Andrew can't explain and terrifies him to think about.

He pushes Bollig away with both hands planted on his chest. Bollig's fingers tightens in his hair before he can completely get free though, but even if Bollig pulls him in again, he doesn't kiss him. He rests their foreheads together, and Andrew's jaw clenches against what's blooming in his stomach, because he refuses to feel that when he's trying so hard to be fucking pissed at Bollig.

“Sometimes you have to let people fight your fights for you, Andrew.”

“We need to get one thing straight,” Andrew says, pushing Bollig back so he doesn't have to go cross-eyed to look at him. “I don't need you to protect me.”

“What we need to get straight is that people aren't allowed to hurt you without me hurting them,” Bollig replies. “This,” he says quietly, leaning in to gently kiss around the edges of Andrew's swollen, bruised eye, “isn't allowed to happen.” His fingers trace over the curve of Andrew's shoulder, pressing lightly until he finds where Andrew is tender from where Bollig was rough with him the day before. “This is,” he whispers.

Andrew fingers curl into Bollig's shirt, the air rushing out of his lungs. Bollig's eyes are searching his face, looking for something that Andrew isn't sure he's going to find. “But you can't...” he starts to say, trailing off before he can really finish his thought.

“Other people aren't allowed to hurt you.” The _I am_ goes unspoken, but Andrew hears it loud and clear.

“You can't beat up everyone that I pick a fight with.”

“Then don't pick fights with people who aren't me.”

“That's not how it works,” Andrew says.

Bollig just shakes his head, thumb sweeping over Andrew's cheek as he leans in to kiss him again.

All in all, it's a whirlwind of a week ― Andrew's first days without detention in what feels like forever, a whole new set of days to serve for his fight; he aces his test though, and that would be the most unexpected thing if Bollig hadn't said that he loved him; and yeah, he's pretty sure he's falling for that asshole too.

―

There's another Friday night hockey game. A home game, and Andrew stays to watch, Bollig at his side. Inevitably, Bollig ends up more or less holding Andrew down while Andrew jumps and shouts with every goal against and bad call. Most of the people in the stands know who Andrew is, but the ones who don't are paying more attention to him than the game. By the end of it, Bollig looks satisfyingly mortified. Andrew takes a great deal of pleasure from that.

The team takes the win, and Andrew drags Bollig along to congratulate the boys. It sucks to just be there and not actually be a part of it, but Andrew can put aside his own disappointment for one night to support his old teammates.

Kaner whispers to Andrew that there's a party later, and the whole hushed conversation charade makes no sense to Andrew until he hears that it's at Tazer's house. He's equally confused when he's relaying the news to Bollig when Bollig then gets conspiratorial and takes Andrew to a quiet corner to talk in private.

“I didn't say anything before because I didn't want you to get any ideas, but my parents are out of town this weekend,” Bollig tells him, eying the room of hockey players and Andrew in turn, like he expects to be betrayed in a heartbeat.

“You have the house to yourself?” Andrew asks, and when Bollig confirms it with a nod, he doesn't hesitate to go back to Kaner and tell him that he has no interest in attending a party at the ritzy end of town Tazer lives in that is surely to get busted, thank you very much.

Kaner looks suspicious of Andrew's reasoning, which prompts Andrew to say, louder than he should, “But I'm sure you'll all have a great time at Jonny's party.”

“Party at Jonny's?” someone repeats immediately, even louder, and Kaner gives Andrew a look so deadly, it's only rivaled by the one that Tazer is sending Kaner's way.

“I'm gonna fucking kill you,” Kaner mutters as Andrew backs away. Andrew shrugs and leaves feeling more smug than he has any right to, as the room chatters with excitement over their newly found plans for the evening.

“One of these times, you're gonna get yourself in more trouble than you know what to do with,” Bollig says as he leads Andrew on toward his car. Andrew grins up at him, because that's a challenge if he ever heard one. “And I'm serious,” Bollig goes on firmly, “don't get any ideas.”

Andrew affects an innocent expression, which probably does more harm than good based on Bollig's answering glare. “I promise not to have any ideas whatsoever about what we could possibly do with an empty house all weekend. None. Not even one. My mind is bare. Naked of any thoughts. Totally nude.”

“For fuck's sake,” Bollig mutters, shoving Andrew away.

“Now who's having ideas, eh? You're the one that brought up fucking,” Andrew yells after Bollig when he tries to put as much distance between them as possible. Andrew gets glared at by at least five different people before he makes a mad dash for Bollig's car to make sure Bollig doesn't actually try to leave him there.

Andrew only eases up once he notices that Bollig is kind of white-knuckling the steering wheel a little bit. He's not going to push it if Bollig is going to get all uptight. Who knows, maybe he has plans for Andrew or something. Andrew is actually fine with whatever they do, but he's really looking forward to some quality one on one time with Bollig.

He sends his mom a text, first apologizing for only just asking last minute, but he's got a huge project due and he needs to spend the weekend at a friend's. Predictably, his mom calls him five minutes later instead of replying.

“Andrew,” she says simply. It's so accusatory that Andrew freezes up, feeling caught out and guilty in a way only his mother can make him feel. “We talked about you leaving things for last minute.”

Andrew is so relieved that he almost sighs down the phone line, but he catches himself and keeps on with the fabricated story, much to Bollig's confusion. She agrees to let Andrew stay out all weekend to finish up the project, and any lingering guilt that Andrew has about lying is gone by the time they pull up to Bollig's house.

Given the fact that Andrew was in turns drunk and hungover the last time he was at Bollig's house, he never really got to see all of it. He's surprised to find a pretty decent gaming set up in the basement, as well as a pool table that he never saw the first time around. Bollig seems intent on staying away from the bedroom, so Andrew lets himself be bullied into a few rounds of Mariokart and a game of pool.

He tries to be seductive with the pool cue, but Bollig ignores him no matter how hard he strokes the thing. And then he tries to play dumb like he doesn't know what he's doing. At that, Bollig just rolls his eyes and demolishes Andrew when he refuses to drop the ruse in an attempt to get Bollig to show him how to play.

It's fun, and it's easy, laughing with Bollig, joking with him. It's easy to catch him unawares and reel him in with a leg hooked around his hip as Andrew perches on the edge of the pool table.

“All right, ground rules,” Bollig says, hand planted firmly on Andrew's chest to keep himself from being pulled in any closer. “Absolutely no parties.”

“Yes, dad,” Andrew replies bitingly.

“Hey, I'm serious.”

Bollig shoves at him a little to get his attention, and Andrew slaps his hand away, equally serious. “I know. Don't worry. I'm not interested in parties this weekend; I just want to spend some time, me and you.”

Bollig seems surprised by that, but he shakes it off. “Okay. Don't touch my dad's liquor because he'll be on my ass if he thinks something is out of place,” Bollig continues, motioning to the fully stocked bar to their left.

Andrew nods sagely and Bollig looks so unsure of his lack of protest that Andrew has to put on a snotty tone and ask, “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Bollig replies. If it's possible, he's being even more stony than before. “Just because we can, doesn't mean we have to,” he says meaningfully.

Andrew sighs at that, shoulders sagging. “Are you seriously making a 'no sex' rule right now?” he asks. When Bollig doesn't come back with an immediate yes or no answer, Andrew hooks his leg over Bollig's hip again. “Be honest with me right now, do you want to?”

“It's not about whether we want to, but that we don't have to, first chance we get,” Bollig says.

“Okay, one more serious question, are you a virgin?” Bollig rolls his eyes at that, and Andrew presses on. “It's okay if you are,” he says, sliding his hands up Bollig's arms to grip his shoulders as he leans in and presses their chests together. “I promise I'll take care of you. I can be gentle.” He punctuates his words with a not-so-gentle bite to Bollig's neck.

Bollig pulls him off the edge of the pool table for that. It escalates to a wrestling match that ends in rough handjobs on the basement floor. Andrew is perfectly content to curl up with Bollig in his bed and go to sleep, sweaty and worn out and happy.

―

Andrew doesn't have any set purpose other than waking Bollig up when he swings his leg over Bollig's hips to settle himself on top of him and starts kissing his sleep-slack mouth. But Bollig gets his hands on Andrew's back and pulls him in closer before he flips their position so Andrew is on his back against the bed, Bollig hovering above him.

They're teenagers, and it's morning, their hard-ons are just there, they don't have to mean anything, but Bollig gets them pressed up together, rocking his hips as he turns Andrew's gross morning kisses into something entirely more filthy. They both went to sleep in their boxers, and it's not like either of them has anything to hide. Bollig goes for it in ways that Andrew didn't expect him to ― kind of thought Bollig would be keeping a marginal amount of distance to hammer home his 'we don't have to' speech.

It feels like more than a quick rub off against each other or mutual handjobs, though, when Bollig leans up on his elbows and stares down at Andrew wordlessly. Andrew just waits, eyes locked on Bollig's as they catch their breath, his fingers fitted to the divots of Bollig's ribcage.

“I have condoms. And lube,” Bollig says into the silence, and they both feel it when Andrew's dick gives an approving jerk between them.

Bollig's mouth twitches, and Andrew can't help but laugh when he says, “Yes, good. I'll use the lube if you want the rubber?”

It's about as close to asking Bollig to fuck him as Andrew dares to get, in case Bollig decides to change his mind.

“Whatever you want,” Bollig answers.

“Yeah, I want,” Andrew says, and Bollig pulls away so fast that Andrew thinks that did it. “Don't change your mind,” he blurts, scrambling to get a hold of Bollig before he can get completely away.

“Jesus, I'm not,” Bollig replies, leaning in over Andrew again. “I'm so done with trying to win at anything when it comes to you.”

“Hey, you won at pool last night,” Andrew says, dumbly.

Bollig cracks a grin. “Only because you let me since you were too busy shoving your ass in my face to actually play.”

“You won me,” Andrew tries next.

Bollig's face goes slack for all of a moment, and then his mouth tightens up as he whispers, “Fuck,” and gets his hand around the back of Andrew's head, pulling him into a bruising kiss.

There's no rush to it, other than the initial contact ― the quick sting of their mouths smashing together before Bollig slows it down and draws it out for what feels like forever. They have to break apart to get their underwear off, and Bollig collects the condom and lube, both of which are hidden in laughable places.

“Shut up,” Bollig mutters when he sees Andrew's smirk and hands off the half-used tube of slick and keeps the rubber for himself. Andrew is tempted to ask, but he thinks better of it, popping the top.

It's a little awkward, because Andrew hasn't really done this a whole lot, and sometimes he already had beer in him to stave off the nervousness, while other times it was Saader, who took the initiative and did this part for him. Bollig just sits there, watching and waiting, and Andrew struggles to decide whether it would be sexier to go between his legs or around to get at himself, if either way is sexy at all or if it would be better if he rolled over and didn't have to see Bollig's reactions.

“Do you want me to do it?” Bollig asks. He doesn't really wait for Andrew to reply, which is fine because Andrew doesn't want to say no but he doesn't want to say yes, either. Bollig grabs the tube and slicks his own fingers up, and Andrew wipes his off on the nearest piece of clothing ― which is thankfully Bollig's boxers and not his own.

Bollig isn't awkward or uncertain about it; he doesn't hesitate. He asks Andrew if he's sure and if he's ready but otherwise, he just goes for it, one hand braced against the inside of Andrew's thigh. The fingers of his other hand leave sticky trails of lube against his skin as he moves them toward his hole. Andrew spreads his legs wider and exhales once they've reached it.

He goes slow, one finger slicking in. Andrew can feel his eyebrows scrunching together as he fights to be still and relaxed for it, the way it's always strange at first, until he gets used to it.

“You good?” Bollig asks, voice tinged with concern, his own face tense with it.

“Yeah, it's fine, just, you know,” Andrew mumbles, and that doesn't seem to make Bollig anymore confident in how Andrew feels about what he's doing. “Put another one in. It's better that way.”

Bollig looks dubious of that, but he makes a 'if you say so' face and lines his middle finger up alongside the first to nudge it past Andrew's tight rim and into him. It's a stretch, Bollig's fingers thick and blunt, but Andrew's right, and the pain makes it less weird and more. Just more. Like actual fucking, and better. He likes the pain, though it fades quickly as Bollig works him open.

“Come on,” Andrew encourages, hips tilting in search of more, and the third finger is really a stretch, makes Andrew choke on air and whimper as soon as Bollig's knuckles push against him.

“Fuck,” Bollig curses when Andrew clenches down around him before making himself relax again.

“Yeah,” Andrew agrees. He reaches down to curl his hand over Bollig's against his thigh and watches Bollig push his fingers in and out, liking how it looks. Bollig looks so huge between his thighs, flushed red from his forehead down to his chest, and Andrew can't wait for Bollig to be inside of him, leaned over close so Andrew can kiss him. “Hurry up,” Andrew demands, clenching down again.

“Don't be so impatient,” he replies, but he pushes his fingers in as far as they'll go and forces the air right out of Andrew's lungs.

“Fuck you, hurry up,” he repeats, more insistent, his voice gone thin and reedy. There's no hint of strangeness lingering any longer, replaced simply with need. “Come on, come on, come on.”

As Bollig slowly slides his finger out, Andrew cants his hips up and gets them in again, and they both groan, eyes meeting as Andrew's cock leaves his stomach sticky with pre-come.

“Fuck,” seems to be the only word Bollig is capable of anymore, which is fine with Andrew so long as they finally do just that.

“Yeah, fuck me, Brandon, do it,” Andrew says, slipping Bollig's name in there because he thinks it'll help.

And it seems to as Bollig springs into action, pulling his fingers free and settling between Andrew's thighs, getting his dick right where Andrew wants it ― almost. He couldn't possibly be more ready for it, legs spread wide and nails digging encouragingly into the muscle of Bollig back, panting open-mouthed in anticipation. It couldn't be any clearer how bad he wants it, he thinks, but Bollig apparently still isn't sure because he pauses, cock teasing _right there_ against Andrew's ass. Andrew wants to punch him in the face.

“Please stop fucking with me and actually fuck me,” Andrew blurts, scratching at Bollig's back viciously. He arches and gets that much closer to Andrew, but not in, not yet, and Andrew would do it himself, would fuck himself right onto Bollig's cock if he could but Bollig's kind of holding the reins here.

Honestly, Andrew isn't sure Bollig realizes just how much he's teasing, how bad Andrew needs it now. He pushes up to catch Bollig's mouth in a kiss, clinging to him, and meets him there, leans him back into the pillows again, and finally ― fucking finally ― lines himself up and pushes forward.

The kiss doesn't last, Andrew's mouth going slack with the deep, full feeling he gets the further Bollig buries himself in. Bollig keeps their faces pushed together, though, their noses nudged against each other, Bollig's mouth panting against Andrew's, and Andrew can feel his eyelashes fluttering with every blink.

Andrew gasps, tilts his chin up enough to bite down on Bollig's lip once their hips are pressed together, close as they can be. With what leverage he can get, he rocks himself up and grinds against Bollig, his dick wet between their bellies as he circles his hips and groans at the feeling of it.

It's spectacularly short-lived. It's not as though Bollig even has to try, Andrew is so fucking gone for him, all he has to do is look up at Bollig and his stomach goes tight, breath short, as Bollig fucks the stupidest noises Andrew's ever heard out of him. Bollig's sweaty, ruddy and hot all over with exertion, looks half cross-eyed with it, dumb as hell with his mouth hanging open and so perfect Andrew is more sure than he's ever been that he fucking loves him.

All it takes is Bollig getting his hand between them, just barely touching Andrew, a loose fist around him, and his back bows, eyes shutting even though he doesn't want them to. He comes like that, all over himself and Bollig's fingers, barely lucid enough to notice that Bollig is barely touching him anymore, held up over Andrew on both hands, head tucked, groaning into Andrew's shoulder. Andrew's knees clamp around Bollig's hips, holding him there, riding it out.

Bollig barely manages to roll off of him, barely gets the condom off and into garbage, before collapsing in a heap at Andrew's side. Andrew turns his head to stare at him, and Bollig doesn't even seem to notice, sprawled and panting, still red all over. He rests for a couple of seconds, but he's sticky with come and sweat and he feels too open and empty and in need of a shower.

He slaps Bollig's chest before he leans over him to kiss him. “I'm taking a shower,” he says, an invitation.

“I'm not moving,” Bollig replies, and Andrew slaps him on the chest again before he climbs over him.

There's a twinge when he moves but he doesn't give it away. He glances over his shoulder and Bollig is staring at his ass as he walks out the door. He rinses off quickly, uses Bollig's toothbrush, and he's barely halfway through drying off by the time his dick is hard again.

He fucking hopes Bollig is still in bed. He is, has barely moved more than to throw his arm over his eyes to block out the sun, and Andrew grabs another condom from the box Bollig threw on the floor. Bollig peeks out from under his arm, sees Andrew coming as he gets back onto the bed, straddling Bollig's hips.

“Jesus,” Bollig groans. It couldn't have been much more than five minutes, and Andrew would be embarrassed about how much he's turned on and ready again, but Bollig's right there with him, half-hard when Andrew walked in, and all the way there by the time Andrew tears the condom open and gets his hands on him.

He's dripping all over the bed, but Bollig doesn't seem to care, gripping Andrew's wet hair in a tight fist when Andrew leans to kiss him. Andrew sits down on him, rides Bollig just how he wants, as deep, as fast, as hard as he likes it right then.

In the end, it doesn't make any difference whether Andrew is being a greedy fuck or not, because Bollig comes first with Andrew on top of him, working his hips with what feels good. Bollig's finger dig into his thighs and he groans out Andrew's name, and he can feel it this time, the way Bollig's hip twitch like he needs to get deeper and his cock jerks inside when he comes.

Andrew gets himself off, messing Bollig up and feeling good for it. He doesn't have the same courtesy as Bollig to slip off to the side and collapses on top of him, which ends up getting himself covered in come too, but he doesn't really care.

He laughs when Bollig groans, halfheartedly shoving at Andrew's hip to get him to the side. It doesn't work until Bollig starts pinching, and that hurts enough for Andrew to take at least most of his weight off Bollig's chest.

They're just lying there, lazy, itchy with drying come and making the bed a mess. Andrew's staring at the stubble on the underside of Bollig's jaw when he says, “This is really stupid, but I love you.”

Bollig snorts, lifting his head enough to see Andrew's face. “You're right, that is really stupid,” he replies, shaking his head and grinning.

Andrew doesn't have anything to say to that so he just digs his chin into Bollig's arm and lets himself be rolled over when Bollig decides he wants to be on top again.

“Even more stupider, but I love you too,” Bollig says. He's looking directly down at Andrew, and he means it ― Andrew knows that Bollig means it just as much as he did.

“I'll still fight you,” Andrew mumbles, because really, it is so stupid, they already know this shit, they can move on now.

“You'll probably always win, you little shit,” Bollig answers, pressing his lips to Andrew's, barely keeping from smiling. Andrew bites him.

―

 

―

It's not until Andrew's phone chimes loudly in the silence of the room and everyone turns to glare at him that he remembers he forgot to turn it off.

“Phones off, _please_ , final warning,” the instructor says to the room at large.

Andrew tries surreptitiously to work his phone out of his pocket to turn it off, but for the most part, everyone around him knows it was his anyway. Whatever. He rolls his eyes and swipes across the screen to check the message. They have a couple of minutes before the test officially begins; he's fine.

Unsurprisingly, it's from Bollig. A good luck message that makes Andrew grin helplessly even though he feels like he should definitely be scowling. If Bollig was anywhere near enough to see him, Andrew would be scowling.

“Girlfriend?” the girl seated next to Andrew asks. She's leaned over into his space, looking at his phone without a hint of remorse for how intrusive she's being.

“Boyfriend,” Andrew replies, tapping out a quick message back to Bollig.

“Lucky you,” she says, nodding and leaning to rest her head against her hand, staring at Andrew. “He seems nice.”

“Sometimes, I guess,” Andrew agrees easily enough, finally turning his phone off and slipping it back into his pocket.

“' _You're gonna do great, you're the best, smash it babe, I love you_ ,'” she quotes back at him skeptically. “Sometimes? That sounds pretty nice to me.”

“I guess,” is all Andrew says.

“So what do you say? Are you going to smash it for your sometimes-nice boyfriend?”

Her grin is infectious and Andrew can't help nodding, grinning despite his nerves. “Yeah, I'm gonna try.”

It's too much for Andrew when she starts quoting Yoda at him and he tunes her out, pushing into the bruise on the inside of his wrist, making it hurt worse than it already does. Bollig was there to help him study last night, focusing him with quick jabs and stinging pinches, distracting him with long, slow kisses and the occasional bite.

Andrew's neck came away with far fewer marks than Bollig's did, but he can still feel the tenderness where Bollig's rough stubble rubbed at him and the places Bollig decided to spend extra time sucking and biting at. Bollig had held him down, pinned him to the floor with an unyielding grip to Andrew's wrist, and made him answer questions like that, grinding down against Andrew every time he got an answer right and pulling away when he was wrong.

There are bruises along his sides too, on his hips, some on his back, but the ones at his wrist are the deepest, and the easiest to touch without drawing too much attention to himself anyway. When the instructor sets the timer and tells them to begin, he digs his fingers in one last time, pain blooming bright and bringing his attention to the surface. He blinks off the last of the uncertainty and flips the test over, tearing into it, calmed by the steady thrum of pain pulsing through his veins.

He's worn out by the end, all the bubbles filled in carefully with what Andrew hopes is the correct answer and essays completed as well as he can manage. It's nerve-wracking to hand it in and call it done, but Andrew doesn't have any other choice.

“Good luck,” the girl from before says as they exit the classroom together. Her smile is genuine and Andrew returns it with one of his own that has to look as forced as it feels. He wishes Bollig were here.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out his cell phone and turns it back on, willing it to hurry up when it takes too long to come to life. It's not even fully operating yet before he thumbs through his contacts and finds Bollig's number.

“How'd it go?” Bollig asks in the way of a greeting.

“I guess we'll find out,” Andrew answers, irritable. “How about you?”

“I guess we'll find out,” Bollig mimics, just to be an irritating bastard.

Andrew huffs out his annoyance loudly enough for Bollig to hear it across the line and sinks down to sit against a row of lockers. Most people are filing out of the hallways already, towards the exits. Andrew isn't one of them. He can't go home yet; he still has hockey practice.

“This sucks,” Andrew groans. Bollig knows what he means, makes a sound of agreement.

It's hard to remember sometimes that it could suck worse. Bollig could have not been accepted to the Performing Arts school, could have been forced to go somewhere else, somewhere further away. Andrew could have not made the hockey team again, could have continued to miss the one thing he thinks he's actually good at and doesn't want to give up on.

They were together the night before, won't see each other again until the weekend comes, but it's better than nothing. School gets in the way a lot; Andrew's hockey and Bollig's rehearsals and plays, and it's made even worse by the fact that they can only rarely make it to each others' performances.

It'll ease up. Hockey season isn't all year, and they'll both have the summer to get sick of each other, God knows they did their first summer together. But they're still together, still happy.

It makes it all worth it, the fighting and the blood, sweat, and tears. Having each other makes up for it. He's fighting for this now, the same way he fought for hockey, how Bollig helped him fight to get hockey back, and he's not giving up.

“I've got rehearsals in five minutes,” Bollig says reluctantly. Andrew kicks the tile wall in the hallway, frustrated. He's got practice to go to, too, but he wants to climb on top of Bollig and scratch his nails down Bollig's chest until Bollig pins him down and kisses away the fear of bombed exams.

“Okay,” he sighs, clambering to his feet and trying to shake off the mood. He's not allowed to bring any of his shit onto the ice with him. “Knock 'em dead, big boy.”

Bollig laughs, and it's enough to make Andrew's shoulders relax a little. “You too,” Bollig says, fond.

Andrew squeezes the phone in his hand, feels the last of his tension drain away as he sees the locker room door come into view. “Always do.”


End file.
